


Broken Hearts

by SGE_Fic



Series: Prophecies and destiny [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Broken Bones, Dragons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Magic Revealed, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Murder, Prophetic Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 66,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGE_Fic/pseuds/SGE_Fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months on from the events of "If My Memory Serves Me Well" Merlin has come to terms with his ordeal, and is adapting well to his new position. But a series of prophetic visions disturbs the stability of his new life, and a dramatic sequence of events sends his destiny tumbling out of his control. Will Merlin, Arthur and Camelot be able to weather the darkness that rises from beneath, or will Morgana be able to bring them, once and for all, to their knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three crows

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ensemble piece with canon relationships and no slash. We're all about the bromance. It's a follow on from If My Memory Serves Me Well, and you're probably best to read that first (though you could watch the trailer by trisazeelee instead https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmqvyF21pMA)
> 
> It's set just after season 3 and diverges from canon at that point, so think yourself back to those halcyon days. 
> 
> Disclaimer - Merlin and all its characters belong to the BBC and Shine. No infringement is intended, and no financial benefit is being made.

It was one of the greatest gifts in the world, Merlin decided, to be able to share your secrets with good friends. It was an even greater gift to be able to share with your friends a really momentously huge secret and have them accept it and move on in a heartbeat as though nothing had changed. It was rare too, for so many people, when admitted into a clandestine fact, found it fractured their friendships. It was only human after all. People seldom welcome change, and when something – or someone – that they have looked upon every day proves to be other than it appears, then the damage can sometimes be irreparable. 

But Gwaine, on hearing of Merlin’s really momentously huge secret (that he had magic), had carried on as though Merlin had told him his favourite colour was purple. It never came up in conversation, never prompted probing questions, and seemed to alter nothing about the way Gwaine treated him. 

It was, in fact, rather nice. 

And Merlin knew he wasn’t faking. He knew, because Gwen was. On the surface, their friendship seemed the same, and she spoke to him the same way she always had done, smiling when she passed him in the corridors or saw him in Arthur’s chambers. But something was missing. It was something in her eyes, something about the way she would look at him when she thought his gaze was elsewhere. It was something that said she didn’t trust him any more. 

Merlin was more grateful than he could say for what Gwen had done for him; for the way she’d defied Arthur, taken on the dragon, and even entered his nightmares to bring him back to reality. But whatever she’d done, there was a part of him that would give anything to have their relationship back the way it had been before. Before Alvarr. Before the cave. Before he knew everything that was to come. 

But it was a big thing, his secret. And it wasn’t like he could blame Gwen for treating him differently. It was one of the reasons why he feared to tell anyone else, particularly Arthur. Not that he’d tell Arthur at the moment anyway. The prince regent had enough on his plate. 

Uther Pendragon after all wasn’t dead. 

There were some who wished him that way. Still more who assumed he was, given that he was rarely seen in public these days, and all orders for the running of the kingdom were coming from his son. But he was still clinging on to some semblance of life and closeted in his chambers from dawn until dusk, making only occasional forays into the rest of the castle.

Arthur was coping – well enough – with his father’s condition and with the additional responsibilities it had dropped in his lap. He was the crowned prince and had been raised with the certainty that one day his father would no longer be there, leaving him in command of his not inconsiderable kingdom. He’d accepted the fact that being in charge meant that not everyone was going to like you. He’d faced with gusto the challenge of ordering Camelot, protecting her borders, negotiating with her neighbours, leading her army and facing her enemies. He’d even learnt to ignore the things that were said, in not too hushed voices, about his new knights who were of less than noble birth; the servant who had once worked clearing stables and who was now sitting on his council table; and the maid who not so long ago was serving the traitorous Lady Morgana, and who many now gossiped was sharing his bed.

He ignored these whispers, but he still heard them. 

Merlin for his part had learnt to deal with his new position in court. The way people were treating him (like he wasn’t worthy of his position) actually bothered him much less than it did Arthur. He’d been a servant for years, after all, and a peasant before that. And although he’d had those rather tempestuous teenage years where he’d considered his magic more than enough of an excuse to think himself better than those around him, living with Gaius had quickly dulled those feelings to a background hum, and then faded them to nothing. He knew his destiny and found himself content with what fate had handed him so far, and was happy to just let things happen at their own pace. 

It was another one of the reasons why he liked Gwaine’s reaction to his magic. It grounded him and reminded him that, while he wasn’t what other people might consider normal, he was still Merlin, still the person he’d always been. 

Or as close to it as he could be. 

There was no denying that being captured by Alvarr, and the events that followed, had shaken him. The sorcerer’s blatant cruelty and self-interest, the ease with which he had over-powered Merlin, and the speed with which his actions had forever altered the young warlock’s life had all left their mark. But the true legacy of his experience was the visions he had been forced to endure.

Following his restoration by Gwen, Lancelot and Gwain, Merlin had spent weeks recovering, and during that time, Gaius had tried to help him deal with those things that were now indelibly imprinted on his brain. Time heals all wounds they say, and slowly as the autumn weeks turned to winter, and then the warmer days that followed frost, promised spring, the vivid nature of what he had seen began to fade. Not forgotten, but the memory of his friends’ deaths, the pain of watching brief human lives burn bright and then fade into darkness, no longer tormented his every waking moment. Eventually they tormented him not at all. Soon he had to actively work to recollect what he had seen, concentrating as you would to remember a poem. It was all still in his mind, but caged and under control. 

It comforted him, and while he knew that the key moments in his life and in Arthur’s life would always remain stark in his memory, the fear of it didn’t need to rule him. In fact, he felt as though his life was almost – almost – returning to normal.

Apart from anything, despite the gossip and the backbiting, his confidence had been raised by his new position. He learnt how to use his knowledge of the future, not with the careless honesty that he had first displayed, but with subtlety and caution. That had come about through necessity, and followed more than one incident early on when his overly-astute council had raised eyebrows and comments from the nay-sayers in court. There had even been whispers about him being in league with their enemies, or even possessing less than natural powers.

After that, he’d become far more careful, helped by the fact that the details of the visions were becoming more and more like a hazy view on a summers day, rather than the sharp relief of a frosty morning. 

He wondered later if this was the reason he hadn’t seen it coming, the terrible events of that summer. There were times he wondered what would have happened if he’d only been strong enough to keep the future vivid in his mind rather than packing it away as he had done, like an embarrassing relative you don’t want to talk about.

Would he have been able to warn them? 

But then, it was never supposed to happen like it did. Out of sequence, the dragon had called it, whatever that meant. And in any case, the visions did their part, forcibly invading his life once more as Arthur’s rule as regent entered its ninth month. It had been the moment when everything began to change. 

***

It had been an ordinary sort of day. The sun was shining; Camelot had been at peace. Arthur had taken Merlin and his knights on a hunting mission, nothing unusual, and they’d been successful, bringing down a large stag which they’d brought back triumphantly to the castle. Merlin had been tired, muddy, but after a hot bath to ease his aching muscles, he’d settled himself cheerfully at the dinner table as Gaius dished out their evening meal. 

They’d chatted through the soup about this and that, nothing in particular, and Merlin had been in the middle of regaling Gaius as to how Gwaine had been almost thrown from his horse during the pursuit of the stag, when he suddenly just – stopped. 

Gaius didn’t even notice immediately that something was wrong, and it took him several seconds to register that his nephew had not simply paused in his telling of the story for breath or dramatic effect. He was sitting there with eyes glazed over, a vacant look on his face, so similar to how he had been when they’d first rescued him from Alvarr all that time ago. 

Gaius put his spoon down quickly. “Merlin?” he asked, holding up a hand and waving it in front of his nephew’s face. “Merlin?” he demanded again, but neither his voice nor his gesture brought any response. Merlin sat frozen to the spot, his breath faint and slow. 

Gaius got to his feet and moved round the table. “Merlin?” he said, again getting no answer. He took a step back, fear clutching him that the boy might have returned to his former state. 

But then Merlin blinked, and took in a breath. His face crinkled in confusion as his eyes took in the empty chair in front of him where his uncle had been sitting. 

“Merlin?” Gaius said again, and the boy actually jumped, and turned to him quickly, his face breaking into a smile of relief. 

“Gaius!” he exclaimed, putting a hand to his heart. “You gave me a fright.” Then he looked confused again. “How did you get there?” 

“You don’t remember what happened?” Gaius asked him. 

Merlin’s face slipped into deeper confusion. “We were just talking,” he said slowly. “You were sitting there, and now you’re here. Obviously you’ve been learning vanishing tricks or something.” He saw Gaius frown. “What is it?” 

Gaius was looking at Merlin intently. “I don’t know,” he said. “We were talking, but then you just stopped. You were looking at me, but not looking. It was like you were asleep.” 

Merlin shook his head incredulously. “But, I’m fine,” he insisted. “I… I don’t feel… there’s nothing wrong.” 

“You don’t feel any different?” 

“No.” 

“Feel dizzy?” 

“Gaius, I’m fine. I would tell you if I wasn’t. I must have just – I don’t know – had one of those moments.” 

Gaius didn’t look convinced. “Well if you’re sure.” 

“Absolutely,” he said, then glanced at the table. “Just – hungry. Can we finish our food?” 

Gaius consented to sit down, but continued to keep Merlin under his watchful gaze for the rest of the evening, looking for any signs at all that something wasn’t right. But Merlin seemed in perfect health. He hummed as he ground up the seeds Gaius had set waiting for him, and his hand was perfectly steady as he helped the physician to write labels for some of his latest potions. The next morning, he rose on time, and again insisted that he was feeling no ill effects from the incident. He said it with the slight tone in his voice that Gaius recognised as a request not to ask again. And he acquiesced, chalking this one up to something inexplicable, one of the many things about Merlin that he would never get to the bottom of. 

The next time, neither of them would be able to dismiss it so easily. 

It had only been about a week later. Uther had been feeling slightly stronger with the coming of summer, and he’d insisted on coming out into the sunshine to watch Arthur at work training his knights. That of course, had put everyone under pressure to perform, and Arthur, eager to impress his ailing father and bring him what he hoped would be some peace, worked them harder than he had done in months. Everyone suffered in the heat, and Merlin watched with sympathy as his friends would break from the session and rip off their claustrophobic helmets, revealing red faces and hair plastered to their heads with sweat. He quickly ran over and offered Sir Elyan a water skin, which he took gratefully, pouring some over his face before taking a long drink. Merlin handed another to Lancelot, panting nearby. 

“He’s on a mission today,” he commented, glancing at Arthur, who had gone over to speak to Uther. 

Lancelot smiled before mirroring Elyan’s actions. 

“Nothing worse than a father’s scrutiny,” Gwaine commented, taking the skin that Elyan offered him. 

“Still, he can’t keep it up for long, surely,” Merlin said quietly. “You’re not going to be much of an army if you’re all lying on the ground suffering from heat stroke.” 

“Don’t be too sure,” Elyan said, as Arthur broke away from his father and walked determinedly towards the training ground. 

“Merlin!” he yelled. 

Merlin rolled his eyes at the knights, but trotted away obediently to where Arthur was waiting. “You hollered sire,” he said quietly, so that Uther would not overhear. 

Arthur ignored the comment and raised his helmet before ramming it back on his head. “Fetch that shield, will you,” he said, indicating a huge shield with his sword. “Father wants me to demonstrate the forward attack again.” 

Merlin’s heart sank. They’d already done this twice, and his arms were still aching. But looking round at the exhausted state of the other knights, and seeing Uther staring intently at the action, he decided against complaining, and went to retrieve the green shield that had been resting against a wooden bench. 

Arthur spent the next half an hour demonstrating the forward attack, until Merlin’s arms felt like jelly, and he was sweating almost as much as the knights in their armour. 

They were all relieved when, after the final demonstration, Uther felt he had seen enough, and retired to the castle for his lunch. 

Arthur was grinning as he pulled his helmet from his head one last time, his own hair plastered down and darkened with moisture. “Knights, well done,” he shouted to them all. “Take the rest of the day to recover and see to your armour. We ride out tomorrow to the borders of Cenred’s kingdom, and I want you and your equipment in top condition. Who knows what we may encounter.” 

Merlin’s heart sank a little at that thought. Rumours had been growing from Cenred’s kingdom of a new and crueller king rising to fill the void left by Cenred’s murder, of an army being raised that threatened everyone. He had sensed the darkness, could almost feel cruel eyes upon him whenever he cast his mind in that direction. He knew who that new ruler was, the evil it meant for all of them.

Distracted, he turned to go, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto his bed and forget about the dangers lurking beyond Camelot’s peaceful borders. 

“Not so fast Merlin,” Arthur’s voice brought him up short, and he turned without enthusiasm towards his prince. “I need you to check my armour for me, sharpen my sword, and make sure my best horse is groomed and tended in preparation for the journey.” Changed role or no changed role, Arthur only ever entrusted his armour and weapons to Merlin. And while cleaning out the stables was now only a job he threatened him with as a last resort, caring for his horses, particularly before such an important mission, also fell to Merlin. “Then we have a council meeting. Don’t be late.” 

Arthur turned away, pulling off his gauntlets and running his hand through his damp hair before reaching for a goblet left for him on a nearby table, and disappearing inside his tent. 

When Merlin finally returned to Gaius’ chambers several hours later, the word exhausted seemed inadequate for describing how he felt. 

“Tired to my core,” he said in response to his uncle’s questioning. “Sore. Sunburnt.” 

Gaius smiled. “I saw Uther was up and about earlier. I’m guessing that might have something to do with Arthur’s renewed vigour.” He handed Merlin a drink as the warlock slumped onto a bench and put his back to the table. 

“You could say that,” he groaned. “Oh, I feel like my arms are about to fall off! And we’re going out on a patrol tomorrow.” He took a drink of what Gaius had given him, surprised to find that it was wine rather than the water he’d been expecting. Surprised, and rather pleased. 

“Did Arthur say where you’re going?” 

“Mm, to Cenred’s kingdom,” he said. “Well, the border anyway. He’s curious about all those rumours that have been flying around. It’s all he talked about for the whole of the council meeting, asking if anyone had any ideas about who this new ruler might be.” 

Gaius looked over at him, faintly concerned to see his hand shaking as he placed the goblet on the table beside him. He watched him sharply as Merlin rubbed both his hands over his sun-scorched face. But he reassured himself that his nephew was probably just tired. A good meal and a night’s sleep would set him straight. “Did you suggest anything?” 

Merlin shook his head, then rubbed his neck. He felt ill, and berated himself for not insisting on taking a break after the training session. But there was always so much for him to do, and no one else that Arthur trusted to do it. 

“I think we both know who’s taken over the ruling of Cenred’s lands,” he said, frowning slightly as his head started to ache and then tendrils of pain spread quickly down his neck. 

“Morgana,” Gauis suggested, still looking at Merlin with concern.

“Morgana without a shadow of a doubt,” Merlin said, trying to continue the conversation, but no longer able to ignore the pain that was surging through him. 

He felt his own words dim in his ears over the roar of rushing blood, and his senses expanded outwards in a sudden flash. Inside him, something was growing, something terrifying and awful and wonderful. 

Gaius heard the strain in Merlin’s voice as he made his last statement, saw him close his eyes and take in a shaky breath. He put down what he was doing. “Are you alright?” 

Merlin didn’t answer, drawing in another breath, a gasp that sounded somewhere between pleasure and pain. 

Gaius crossed the room quickly, arriving in front of his nephew just in time to see his unseeing eyes shoot open, and another small gasp slip from his lips. He crouched down, ignoring the shooting pains in his back and legs. “Merlin.” 

“It comes!” the words were his, but the voice was from somewhere else. “They wait in the shadows, three crows dancing in the firelight. They bring death from beneath us, death in the darkness. And it shall break our hearts.” 

As soon as the words were out, Merlin blinked heavily as though his eyelids were a great weight in his face, then he pitched forward. 

“I’ve got you,” Gaius leaned up and caught him in his arms before he could fall to the floor, pushing him back up onto the seat. He was conscious, but only just. “You’re alright.” He held him upright as he became more aware. “Can you hear me?” 

Merlin nodded, a slight movement of his head only. “What happened?” he whispered. 

“I’m not sure,” Gaius admitted. “But I think we worry about that later. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He got himself to his feet, with no small effort, and then tugged and badgered Merlin until he did as he was told. Together they staggered up the stairs to Merlin’s tiny bedroom, and Gaius pushed him onto the bed, getting off his jacket and boots before lying him down and covering him with a blanket. Merlin was asleep immediately, untroubled and peaceful. 

Which is more than could be said for his uncle.

Gaius hadn’t realised that his own hands were shaking. After reassuring himself that Merlin was indeed fine, he stumbled from the room, and made his way quickly to a chair, breathing hard. 

He knew a prophecy when he saw one, and it seemed not strange at all to him that such a thing should happen to Merlin. But it was still unnerving. 

Then a thought struck him, and he turned to his desk, scrabbling for parchment and a quill pen. 

“Three crows dancing in the firelight,” he said to himself as he scratched the words down as quickly as he could. “They bring death from beneath us, and it shall break our hearts.”


	2. Truths and lies

The following day, Merlin woke early and seemed none the worse for his ordeal, except that he ached all over. But, he reasoned, that was every bit as likely to be from Arthur’s tortuous training session as any other-wordly vision experience. Which, it turned out, he didn’t remember. 

“You don’t remember anything?” 

“Nope, there was just this pain,” he explained, gesturing behind his head with one hand, whilst clutching the apple he was halfway through with the other. “It was spreading and getting worse and then…” he shook his head. “I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t even remember going to bed.” He took a bite of his apple. “What do you think it means?” 

“I think it means that what you saw of the future may be breaking through your unconscious mind,” Gauis said seriously. 

Merlin stopped chewing. “Really?” 

“It seems a likely explanation.” 

“But I thought all that stuff I saw about the future was going away,” Merlin protested. “I thought that, now my memory of the visions was fading, now I had more control of what I was seeing, it was going to keep on getting better!” 

“I’d hoped so too,” Gaius said. 

“But…” he looked troubled. “Gaius… what did I even say?” 

Gaius turned to the piece of paper he’d written on the previous night, and which he’d been up late studying to try to decipher its meaning. He handed it to Merlin, who took it and read it quickly. 

“Three crows?” he said looking up. “Death from beneath us? It’s gibberish! Maybe I just had – I don’t know – sun stroke or something. Maybe Arthur bashed me on the head one too many times.” 

“It’s possible,” Gaius acquiesced with a slight tilt of his head. 

“But you don’t think so,” Merlin said. 

“No I don’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Because, Merlin, you have a power inside you that the world has never seen, and that power includes the rare ability to see the future. It is a power that was harnessed and accelerated by your imprisonment in the Crystal Cave. Now for all that that was a terrible experience and we’d all like to imagine it didn’t happen, it is necessary to acknowledge that it did. And we have never fully known what the legacy would be. Maybe this is it.” 

“I know what Alvarr did to me,” Merlin said steadily. “But that was months ago. If this was going to happen, why is it happening now?” 

“The brain is a very funny thing, and none of us understands it fully. Maybe by getting the visions under control, what you’ve really been doing is repressing them. Maybe they’re being forced to find another conduit out of you. Maybe that’s what this is. And as to why it’s happening now, I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe it’s a warning that something is about to happen, something so bad that we’ve been given this message.” 

“About crows and broken hearts?” Merlin waved the piece of parchment. “It’s not a message, it’s – a riddle.” 

“It may be a riddle, but we’re going to have to work it out, and quickly.” 

“I don’t have the time,” Merlin protested, putting the paper down. “Arthur’s riding out this morning, and he’ll already be in a foul mood that I’m not there to help him prepare.” 

“Merlin you can’t go riding with Arthur!” Gaius exclaimed. “We don’t know what the effects of this incident may be. We don’t know if you’ll have another one.” 

That stopped Merlin in his tracks, the thought of spouting gibberish in front of Arthur making his heart sink. “Oh that’s just perfect,” he said. “Now I’m not only passing out and having visions, I’m doing it in front of the son of Uther Pendragon!” 

“I didn’t say you would have another vision. Just that we don’t know what’s causing this and it might be a good idea for you to stay here until we do know.” 

Whatever response Merlin was about to give was rudely interrupted by the door slamming open. Arthur was standing there, and he was not smiling. He strode in, confidence exuding from every inch of him. He was dressed in his travelling clothes. 

“Merlin,” he said, coming to a stop.

Merlin’s heart sank even further. If that were possible. “Yes sire.” 

The prince regent regarded him, ignoring Gaius. “Do you have the ability to tell time?” 

“Yes sire.”

“And do you have the ability to tell what day it is?” 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and spit out a cheeky response. “Yes sire.” 

“Then do you mind telling me why you are not in my chambers right now helping me to prepare for what is possibly the most important journey we’ve taken this summer?” 

Merlin opened his mouth, but it was Gaius who got there first. “Forgive me sire,” he spoke up loudly. “But it was me who detained Merlin and stopped him from coming to you this morning.” 

Arthur gave Merlin one more glare, then turned to Gaius. “Oh?” 

“Yes. He was unwell when he first rose, and I wished him to remain here until I was satisfied that he had at least eaten something.” 

Arthur frowned and turned back to Merlin, who held up his browning apple with a slight, sheepish grin. 

“I see,” Arthur said, clearly struggling between not believing Gaius’ excuse, and a slight hint of concern. “And will you be well enough to ride out with us today?” 

This time Merlin got in first before Gaius could respond. “Of course sire,” he insisted. 

Arthur’s gaze was penetrating, but Merlin didn’t flinch before the prince, who turned once again to Gaius. The physician’s expression was more uncertain. “Gaius?” 

Gaius saw Merlin’s frown and felt his resolve weaken. He knew his nephew didn’t like to be separated from Arthur’s side if he could help it. These days he took his job as protector very seriously. “If Merlin feels well enough to ride, sire, I shan’t stop him.” 

“Very well,” Arthur clearly had no inclination to give this conversation more of his attention. “Be in the courtyard ready to leave in one hour,” he commanded his servant, making to leave. “Oh, and Merlin? Having gone to the effort of providing you with armour, which, I need not remind you, I had to have custom made to fit your girlish frame, I would very much appreciate it if you actually wore it. There’s nothing worse than turning round in the middle of a skirmish to find you hiding behind a bush with nothing but a tatty coat to protect you from stray arrows.” 

Merlin looked less than pleased. “It’s heavy,” he complained. 

“Yes Merlin, that’s because it’s made of metal. We find it’s better for repelling swords and daggers than armour made out of string.” 

“Alright,” he held his hands up in submission. “Alright I’ll wear it.” 

“Good,” Arthur said, and left without further comment. 

“Merlin,” Gaius stopped him as he was about to make good his escape to his bedroom. The boy turned back to him, rather reluctantly. “As I said to Arthur, I shan’t stop you going on this trip if you are determined to go, but you’d better start thinking about what you’re going to do if you feel another vision coming on.” 

Merlin nodded, and managed a half smile. “Don’t worry Gaius. If I feel a bit more death in the darkness coming my way, I’ll certainly be ready for it.”

***

Merlin had made the decision to tell Gwaine about his ability to tell the future about an hour into their morning’s ride. He'd been considering it before he’d even made it into the courtyard, though at that point, he’d been thinking about telling both Gwaine and Lancelot. But Lancelot, it turned out, had injured himself in the training session the day before, some damage to his ankle that made it awkward for him to walk, and so he was staying behind. And that left Gwaine. 

Merlin ran through various options of how he was going to tell him as they rode along, occasionally pulling at his mail byrnie to try and redistribute its weight (not that it made any difference). But he hadn’t come up with anything even remotely better than: ‘So Gwaine, did I ever mention that I could tell the future…’ before Arthur had called a halt for lunch. 

They’d come about four leagues from the castle, and were still well within Camelot’s borders. But Merlin had felt a sense of unease growing within him with each step of their horses. 

“Merlin, go and collect some fire wood,” Arthur commanded after he’d set guards – always the first priority. “But don’t be too long. I don’t want this stop to take all day.” 

“Yes sire,” Merlin agreed. Then a thought struck him. “Can I take Gwaine?” 

Arthur raised his eyebrows a little at that and glanced at the dark-haired knight, who’d already unpacked what he needed from his horse, and didn’t seem to be doing anything of particular importance. 

“Sure I’ll go with him,” Gwaine said good naturedly. “Worrying about those wolves and bears are we Merlin?” he went on, coming over to his friend and slapping him over-heartily on the shoulder.” 

“Yeah, the bears are terrible in these parts,” Merlin smiled as they turned away together from Arthur. “Bears as big as – houses so they say.” 

“You know I fought a bear once,” Gwaine said as they walked together from the clearing. 

“Really? Who won?” Merlin asked. 

“It was a bit of a draw, actually,” he said. “He went into hibernation before I could finish him off.” 

“Yeah?” Merlin had a big grin on his face by this time. 

“Yeah. Big paws though. And you know what they say about bears with big paws.” 

“No, what do they say about bears with big paws?” 

Gwaine glanced his way. “Big paw prints.” 

“Right,” Merlin laughed, looking over his shoulder to see how far away they were from the others. Out of ear shot anyway. “Look,” he became serious, his face changing and his smile fading like the moon going behind a cloud. “I need to talk to you.” 

“So talk,” Gwaine said, leaning down to pick up his first stick. 

Merlin squirmed a little, still not hugely happy about what he was about to do, but determined to do it now that he’d made up his decision. “You know what happened to me,” he went on, casting about on the floor himself and picking up a ridiculously small twig, before looking at it in disgust and breaking it in two. “When I was captured by Alvarr?” 

Gwaine looked over at him, matching his seriousness instantly at mention of the sorcerer’s name. He looked away again, uncomfortable. “I know what the outcome was,” he said. 

“Right,” Merlin said again. “The whole…” he waved a hand in front of his face. “Glazy eyed thing.” 

“Yeah,” Gwaine agreed. “That.” 

“And you know I have magic,” Merlin said with deadly seriousness, because sometimes, just sometimes, a little part of him still said that the reason Gwaine never had a problem with what he was, was because he didn’t actually get it. 

Gwaine just gave a little smile and looked over again. “Yeah, that I know,” he admitted. 

“Okay,” Merlin went on, trying to get a feel for the conversation. “So, Alvarr put me in this cave.” 

“The Crystal Cave,” Gwaine broke in. “I was there when we rescued you. Very pretty.” 

“Pretty,” Merlin agreed. “And powerful. It’s the birthplace of magic so they say.” 

Gwaine nodded, he was still picking up firewood. “Gaius said that’s why it affected you. It’s why you went all,” he waved his hand in front of his face like Merlin had done. 

“Yes,” Merlin went on, trying to be quick. “But it’s more than that. It’s a source of knowledge, a place you can go to see things. See… the past… the present… the future.” 

He let that hang there while Gwaine picked up another stick. 

“Gwaine,” he said to draw his attention. “I went like I did because when I was in the cave, I saw the future. I saw too much of it.” 

Gwaine was looking at him with a confused expression. “How much is too much?” 

He shrugged. “I saw all of it.” 

“Because you’re a sorcerer?” 

“Not entirely,” Merlin hedged. “Look, when the dragon put Gwen inside my ‘nightmares’ as he called them, he put her inside the visions I was seeing of the future and couldn’t get away from. She helped me to escape them, but in doing so she saw what I saw. I don’t know why, but when we got out, she forgot everything she’d seen. If you ask her now, she genuinely doesn’t remember anything that happened.” 

He let that hang there for a bit as well. 

“She said she couldn’t remember,” Gwaine agreed. “She’s talked about it.” They looked at each other. “She also said that you couldn’t remember.” 

Merlin dropped his gaze, feeling the seep of guilt. “I lied,” he whispered. 

Gwaine just kept looking at him. 

Merlin eventually pulled his gaze back up from the floor, hideously aware that this time-limited conversation didn’t afford him the luxury of wallowing in emotion. “I lied because I had to,” he justified, still having problems meeting Gwaine’s eyes. “The future is full of dangers, but knowing it is perhaps most dangerous of all. It’s too easy to let it consume and obsess you. My knowledge could bring heartache and strife to so many. I had to lie – to protect people.” He looked Gwaine in the eye finally, trying not to appear like he was pleading. “Do you believe me?” 

The knight chewed his lip slightly, seeming to consider. Then he nodded. “So why are you telling me now?” 

Merlin heard his name being called and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you everything later,” he said coming forward. “I promise. But I needed to warn you,” his name was called again, but he ignored it. “When I came back, I worked hard at getting the visions under control. I was able to temper what I saw, get back to a more or less normal life and so continue protecting Arthur. But something’s happened. I had a vision last night. Gaius said I just started spouting gibberish and then keeled over, but I don’t remember anything.” He took a step forward. “If the same thing happens again while we’re on this mission, if Arthur sees…” he broke off, at a loss to actually know, now that it came to it, what he wanted. What did he need Gwaine to do? 

Then the knight smiled, genuinely and warmly, and came towards him. He put a hand on his shoulder. “You need me to spin Arthur some completely made up idiotic tale for you?” he asked. 

Yeah that would do it. 

Merlin nodded meekly. 

Gwaine shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “You start going all weird and talking in tongues, I’ll just tell Arthur you’ve been downing sloe gin behind his back the whole day. How would that do?” 

“Thanks?” Merlin looked unsure. Then his name was yelled again in a manner that did not allow refusal. 

“Better get some more wood,” Gwaine suggested, grinning as he glanced down at what Merlin was holding, before patting him on the shoulder again and heading off back to the clearing. Merlin looked down himself to find that he was still holding a small piece of twig in each hand. 

Rolling his eyes, he dropped them quickly, and began scrabbling around for more substantial pieces of firewood.


	3. Journey to the border

That night, they waited until the others had fallen asleep before they risked discussing things further. They’d been lucky: Gwaine was on first watch, so all Merlin had to do was stay up with him. 

They’d talked about things, nothing really, as the knights slowly dropped off around them, snoring gently in the darkness. Only once they were sure there was no one left awake to listen, did they talk more freely. 

“So what’s it like seeing the future?” Gwaine asked the question that had been burning his mind all afternoon. He glanced at Merlin. The firelight was illuminating both their faces a stark white. 

Merlin looked sidelong back at him, smiling slightly. “It’s… difficult,” he admitted. 

“Difficult?” Gwaine was incredulous, but in a joking manner. “What could be difficult? You’d win every bet you’d ever make!”

“It’s not as simple as that.” 

Gwaine sighed, “It never is. So why is it difficult in particular?” 

Merlin gazed into the fire. He’d never had to put this into words before. He was even a bit surprised that Gwaine was asking, given how unquestioning he’d been about everything else. He pulled back his shoulders, straightening his back a little, and tried to explain. “Imagine,” he said. “That you could meet yourself as you were five years ago. Imagine you had a conversation and you told yourself that you were now a knight of Camelot and that you were working for a prince who you considered to be a close personal friend. How do you think the younger version of you would react?” 

Gwaine looked surprised at the question. “I dunno,” he said honestly. “Guess I would have been a little – shocked I suppose, given I was the sworn enemy of all nobles back then – and given that I never wanted to be a knight after what happened to my father.” 

“Precisely!” Merlin exclaimed. “You were a different person. You lived by different standards and different rules. You could never have imagined what was going to happen in the future, what you were going to become. But you’ve changed. All those things that have happened to you, every moment of every day, every person you've met, every decision you've made, it's shaped you. You’re like a river, always shifting with the flow of water. You’re the same river now, you just follow a different course. And it doesn’t seem that odd to you now, does it, being a knight?” 

Gwaine looked at him searchingly. “I guess it doesn’t,” he admitted. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” 

“Well, that’s what it’s like seeing the future,” Merlin said, turning to the fire again. “I saw all these things, things that don’t make sense, or at least don’t make sense to me now. It was like being dropped into the middle of a story, and seeing my friends as though they were strangers. Some of the things I saw were terrible, and it’s so... hard to imagine how our lives could possibly change so much.” He sighed. “But like any story, the further you travel from hearing it, the less clear the telling of it becomes in your head.”

“So you’re saying you saw a terrible future – but now you can’t remember it?” Gwaine wondered, confused. 

Merlin shook his head. “It’s not that I can’t remember. It’s – I suppose – it’s just that the details trouble me less. Moments still stand out,” he looked into the flames, and then beyond them. “I see peace in the lands… great battles,” he whispered, and for some reason, Gwaine, shivered at his words. “Knights riding to victory. I see Arthur proclaimed king…” Merlin flinched, and Gwaine saw his gaze drop to his hands, looking at them as though they were not his own. “But there’s blood,” he whispered, turning his hands over. “So much blood…” 

Gwaine quickly reached across and wrapped his strong fingers around Merlin’s wrist. He jumped, and his eyes sought Gwaine’s, instantly snapping back to the present. Gwaine nodded at him, and let him go, but he still watched him closely as Merlin swallowed and tried to shake away the thought of what he had just seen. 

“Well, mate,” Gwaine said eventually. “You’ve got yourself a good one there. I’m not sure I envy you.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Merlin said immediately, and breathed in deeply, feeling the cold night air flow into him like a healing tonic. 

Gwaine considered him, accepting what he had been told with the same ease as he had accepted his friend’s magic, though he had to admit it did leave him with a sense of disquiet. There was something about seers that had always made him feel uncomfortable. Probably just that sense that everything he was ever going to do had already been mapped out for him. Gwaine didn’t like the idea that his decisions were not all that was driving his fate. 

Not that it mattered now. His friend had asked him for help, and that’s what he was going to give. “So what’s this problem you were telling me about this afternoon?” 

Merlin shifted, having another glance round the sleeping knights. All was peaceful; still, he lowered his voice. “After the training session yesterday,” he said. “Arthur had me doing all the extra stuff: getting him ready for today, doing the horses, the weapons. By the time I was finished, I was so tired I just wanted to drop straight into bed and sleep for the rest of time. But when I got back to Gaius’s chambers, I started to feel unwell. I can’t really describe it. I just remember immense pain, and then nothing. I thought I'd blacked out, but Gaius told me the next day that I’d started speaking: something about darkness coming from beneath us, and three crows dancing in the firelight. That it was going to break our hearts.” 

“Break our hearts?” Gwaine wondered, with a little smile. “Maybe you’re going to fall in love.” 

Merlin glanced at him, realising that he was trying to lighten the mood. He smiled back. “I don’t think so.” 

“And that was unusual?” Gwaine asked. “What happened? That’s not the way you’ve normally been seeing the future?” 

Merlin shook his head. “No. When I saw it before, in my head, it was as it will be, like I was standing there in the middle of it. And that's what I see when I look back - or forward, or however this work. This was – I don’t know what it was. I don’t even remember it. And those words mean nothing to me. I don’t know what the darkness is, or the three crows.” 

“Could it just mean nothing? Maybe you really weren't well. Maybe old Arthur here just worked you too hard.” 

He shrugged. “Possibly, but Gaius doesn’t think so.” He turned to his friend. “I’m – scared Gwaine,” he admitted frankly. “I’m scared it will happen again. I’m scared what it means.” 

Gwaine was curious. “Then why come on this mission?” he wondered. “Surely Arthur could have spared you just this once. You could have stayed with Gaius, got this all figured out.” 

“I can’t leave Arthur,” Merlin said earnestly. “He needs me, he needs what I can do.” 

“Even though he doesn’t even know?” Gwaine wondered. When Merlin wouldn't look at him he went on: “Maybe it’s time you told him the truth.” 

The warlock shook his head firmly. “That time is soon, but the laws against magic still hold true. If Arthur were to find out now, I genuinely don’t know how he’d react, or what he’d do to me. And I need to be at his side. I’m the only one who can protect him.” 

Gwaine made a face and poked the fire. “Seems to me you take an awful lot onto yourself.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you’re Arthur’s servant, you take care of him, you’re his councillor, you’re his protector. But who in all this looks after you? If you’re so vital to Camelot, someone should be taking the same care of you as you do for Arthur. And yet you’re out here leaping about collecting firewood and throwing yourself into danger. You’re every bit as important as Arthur is, Merlin. Just because you’re a servant, don’t ever forget that.” 

Merlin smiled sadly. “Thank you,” he said. 

“I mean it,” Gwaine said. “And from now on, I’m going to be looking out for you.” He stretched. “And in that capacity, I believe that you should get some sleep. I’m guessing being tired isn’t going to help any of this?” 

“No, probably not,” Merlin admitted. He rubbed his hands on his trousers and pulled himself tiredly to his feet. 

“And Merlin,” he turned back. “Don’t worry about it. Whatever these visions are, whatever they mean, we’ll figure it out. You’re not in this alone.” 

Smiling again, Merlin nodded, before turning away and walking to his spot by the other knights where he could settle down and try to get some much needed sleep.

***

It had been an uneventful night, and none of the watches experienced anything unusual, which was a relief given how close they now were to Cenred’s kingdom. With all the rumours flying around about dark armies rising out of the ashes of the old, Arthur had feared that the night would bring trouble. He’d slept fitfully, half expecting to be woken by an attack at any moment. 

But when Leon had shaken him out of his sleep shortly after dawn, everything was as it should be. Peace reigned over his companions, some of whom were still asleep. 

Arthur suppressed a groan as he pushed himself upwards. Sleeping outside without a tent was never his first choice, and however many times he did it, it never became less uncomfortable. He felt grimy and damp, chilled to the bone, his arm aching where he’d lain and pressed it into some rock or tree root or other hard object. 

Still, he couldn’t be seen to show weakness, not with so much responsibility resting on his shoulders. The knights looked to him now for leadership, pretty much exclusively since his father was in no state to command. And the knights needed strength to follow, not someone who moaned about having to sleep on the floor. An aching arm he could get over, and when he moved around he’d heat up soon enough. No point in complaining.

He looked around the clearing, trying to wake up and get his bearings, plan in his head for what needed to happen before they could set out: how far they were going to need to travel that day, what dangers they might face. Strategising was, after all, one of Arthur’s strong points, and he was able, within only a few minutes of waking, to have the entire day mapped out in his head, from breakfast to making camp again that evening. 

As his eyes wondered over his men, subconsciously checking them for any signs of weakness, lack of spirit, or injury, his gaze fell upon his servant. Merlin was still curled up on the ground asleep, head pillowed on his jacket, undisturbed by the sound of the camp stirring around him. 

Sighing a little in annoyance, Arthur marched determinedly over and was about to give him a friendly kick to wake him, when he suddenly remembered what Gaius had said about Merlin being ill the day before. It occurred to him that his servant had seemed more listless than usual, and his verbal sparring hadn’t really been up to the same standard. Still, he couldn’t sleep all day. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said gently, and gave him a shake. 

The boy was awake instantly, sitting up with a start, and clasping Arthur’s hand, still hovering close to his shoulder. 

The prince was startled by the reaction, but tried not to show it. “Come on,” he said encouragingly. “No time for a lie in.” 

Merlin blinked at him, and seemed to be trying to steady his breathing as he looked about. Then he nodded. “Of course sire.” 

“You okay?” Arthur asked quietly and with just a hint of concern.

Merlin smiled instantly. “Fine,” he stated. 

Arthur accepted that without question, and nodded, getting up and moving over to the fire to see who if anyone was sorting out breakfast. 

They were moving again well within the hour, their campsite erased behind them: all signs of the fire put out and buried, dead leaves spread across the forest floor to disguise where they had been sleeping to all but the most skilled trackers. The mood was good, as far as Arthur could tell, and the knights chatted amongst themselves, occasionally laughing quietly, although they remained on their guard, and one or two were always instinctively silent and keeping watch at the fringes. They were well trained. 

Arthur noticed that in the midst of the group, Merlin had fallen in beside Gwaine instead of taking up his usual position beside him, and he wondered at it vaguely, stacking it up in his mind with the rest of his servant’s unusual behaviour on this trip. The two weren’t talking much, and unless he was mistaken, Gwaine was occasionally stealing Merlin concerned glances. It was odd, but not odd enough for him to question it, and if there was a genuine problem, he had to trust his men enough to bring it to him without having to force them to confess.

In any case, he found it was distracting him, and angrily turned his attention back to the trail. 

“Elyan,” he called. 

“Sire?” he heard a horse trotting up beside him, and turned to see Gwen’s brother appear at his elbow. 

“Your patrols have scouted this border?” 

“Many times in the past months, my lord.” 

“And they’ve encountered resistance?” 

“Frequently,” Elyan told him. “Two missions out of three I would say were attacked well before this point.” 

“But you would say we are still on Camelot’s soil at this point?” 

“I would sire, but I would also say that the border is contested.” 

“Hm,” Arthur said, pulling his horse to a stop as they reached a vantage point on top of a small ridge looking out over the forest. Below them, a slow-moving river meandered its way through the trees, which were thinning as they reached the forest’s edge. Beyond were fields of what looked like well-tended crops, and far beyond those the ground ridged up into hills. “The agreed border was at the edge of this forest,” he said, looking down. “But that treaty was drawn up years ago.” 

“Do you propose to cross the border?” Elyan wondered. “Such as it is.” 

“I think it might be wise,” Arthur considered, looking back round at his men. There were 24 of them with him, a small band perhaps, but all armed and trained as knights of Camelot. Surely enough to turn back all but the most determined opposition. “We’re hardly an invasion force, but if there is a new king here, I for one would like to meet him, and find out why he is harrying my men beyond his borders. There has been no answer to any of the correspondence we have sent, and none of your scouting parties have been able to make it much beyond this point have you?” 

“A league at most sire.” 

“The men who attacked you,” Arthur looked at him questioningly. “They were bandits you think?” 

Elyan looked a little unsure. “They were dressed as bandits, and they were unskilled. But…” 

“What?” 

“These last few times, when they attacked, they appeared to be wearing similar livery. If they are bandits, they are becoming more organised as I have reported. That, tied with the rumours that we have heard in the border villages, led me to make my assumption that a new ruler had taken the throne here.” 

Arthur went back to scanning the countryside in front of him. “But a bandit chief wouldn’t bother to dress his soldiers in uniforms,” he commented. “So who exactly is in charge?” 

Elyan shook his head. 

Arthur looked back at him. “Let’s find out,” he said. Turning to his knights he raised his voice. “Men,” he shouted. “We are soon to come close to the border. Be on your guard at all times and prepare for attack. We’ve no idea what we may face. But I wish to journey as far as I am able into Cenred’s kingdom. It is vital that we gather as much information as possible about what is going on here and what potential threat it is to Camelot. Be vigilant and take note of all that you see, however trivial.” 

With that, he turned back, and spurred his horse on down the ridge. 

They forded the river easily enough, the water splashing to their horses’ knees and leaving some riders with wet feet, but they were over without incident. On the other side, Arthur turned them east so that they could travel towards the edge of the forest in a diagonal line, taking advantage of the cover of the trees for as long as possible. And in that manner, they travelled for maybe an hour, slowly and cautiously, all of them silent now and attentive, prepared for danger. But none came. The knights cast about in the forest for movement, but all they saw were wild beasts, which fled at the noise of the horses’ hooves on the forest floor. 

Arthur didn’t know what to make of it. If his men were being attacked here so often, then why had they been allowed to pass so far unchallenged? It was unnerving. Surely any new ruler worth his salt would be guarding his border against incursion? Surely they should have seen someone by now: a scout, a party of armed men, something?

In Arthur’s head, it implied they were walking into a trap. 

The light began to grow brighter as the trees thinned out a little around them, changing to conifers and birches as opposed to the oaks and ashes of the main wood, and further spaced apart. It gave them less cover, but also allowed them to see further around them, and they were comforted that there was still no sign of danger. 

Arthur turned and signalled that Elyan again should come closer. 

“Did any of your patrols make it this far?” he asked quietly. 

“No Arthur,” Elyan assured him. “None of them.” 

Arthur opened his mouth, about to ask him something else when his gaze was suddenly drawn to a small hillock to their right, rising steeply off the forest floor, and thickly carpeted in pine needles. At the top of the hill, in clear view, stood a small group of horses, perhaps 15 or so, with men, and he noticed, a couple of women, sat on top of them, all in armour, and all wearing similar colours. 

This Arthur took in in a manner of seconds, before shouting: “Knights!” as a warning and drawing his sword. The knights instantly moved their horses around in a defensive position around Arthur, facing the threat and prepared for attack. But the men on the hill didn’t move. Then one of them at the front pulled back the hood that had been shading his face. 

It was Alvarr.


	4. The deal

“Arthur Pendragon,” Alvarr called down to him. “You’re a long way from home.” 

Arthur was so shocked at seeing the sorcerer again and so close at hand, that for a moment he couldn’t think what to respond. Then anger flared within him. 

“And you’re a long way from where I saw you last,” he retorted. “In the dungeons of Camelot.” 

Alvarr smiled slightly at his words and the implied threat. “Much has changed since then,” he called down gently. 

Arthur could hear behind him the jingle of a horse’s metal tack as an animal danced around and neighed nervously. He didn’t need to turn to know that the horse belonged to Merlin. He could practically feel the waves of fear rolling off his servant himself, no wonder his horse was reacting to it. Part of him instinctively wanted to send Merlin away, but he knew that splitting their party wouldn’t be the wisest choice at this juncture, and Alvarr had the advantage of height. He also probably knew the lay of the land, and may even have had more men in the woods around them. No, it was best they all stuck together. 

“So,” Alvarr went on. “You have come to find out who is the new ruler of Cenred’s kingdom.” 

Arthur was momentarily confused. He hadn’t imagined for a second that Alvarr would have any interest in why they were there. “Our business is our own,” he shouted back up. “And we travel in peace. State what your purpose is here or be on your way. I do not wish to fight you.” 

“And that would be a wise choice,” Alvarr said, still relaxed, still focussed on Arthur. “As to my purpose, I have come to talk, nothing more.” 

“So talk,” Arthur called. 

“I wish to talk alone.” 

Arthur heard the incredulous sounds from his knights, and felt a small smile tug the corners of his mouth: “I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon,” he said. “Our past encounters haven’t exactly filled me with enthusiasm for your trustworthiness.” 

“I do not ask you to trust me, prince regent. All I ask is that you come with me a short distance from these others and simply listen.” 

“That requires quite a lot of trust, don't you think? And why on earth would I want to do that?” Arthur scoffed. 

“Because I can tell you everything you want to know about the new ruler of Cenred’s kingdom,” Alvarr said. “Whom I now serve.” 

That was unexpected. “You serve them and betray them in the same breath,” Arthur pointed out 

“It is no great secret,” Alvarr said. “And you would soon find out in any case.” 

Arthur considered, glancing at Elyan next to him, and seeing Leon beside him as well, sword drawn. They both looked at him questioningly, wondering what he was going to do. 

He looked back up the hill. “If I am to find out soon, then why would I talk to you? What can you tell me that I would not hear from others?” he wondered. 

Alvarr’s face expressed his impatience. “I can tell you that it is your sister, Arthur. And that she has given me a message for your ears, and your ears only.” 

At that, Arthur heard a few intakes of breath from around him. So Morgana was here, in Cenred’s kingdom, and building a new army no doubt. 

He fixed Alvarr with a look. This message was worth hearing. “If I am to talk to you, what guarantees do I have as to safety?” he shouted up.

“Arthur no!” Merlin cried from behind him, and one or two of the other knights also made noises of protest. 

“You will keep your weapons,” Alvarr said, smiling again. “My men will remain here, yours there. I can give you no more guarantee than that. You must simply decide what you wish more: this information, or a risk-free life. In which case I would suggest riding back to your kingdom and hiding under your bed.” At that, several of Alvarr’s followers chuckled loudly. 

Arthur finally looked around at his men. Merlin was the first to speak. He looked terrified, as Arthur had guessed he would. 

“Arthur, you can’t trust him,” he said, quietly, but earnestly. “He’ll kill you.” 

“Then surely he would have done so already,” Arthur pointed out. Seeing Merlin’s worried expression deepen, he turned his horse so that his back was to the sorcerer, and urged it forward so that he was closer to his friend. “Merlin, finding out about Morgana is worth the risk,” he stated. “I appreciate why you’re worried, but there’s nothing I can do about that. This is a man with information, nothing more.” 

“No Arthur, this is a powerful sorcerer who has proved time after time that he is an enemy of Camelot,” Merlin said it quickly and with passion. 

“Arthur, Merlin is right,” Leon said at his elbow. “Alvarr can not be trusted. You are too important to the kingdom to risk on this errand.” 

Arthur felt a stab of anger. “I’ll decide what is to be risked,” he growled. “And I have decided.” 

He turned his horse back to face his enemy. “Where do we meet?” he demanded. 

Alvarr smiled and raised an arm, pointing. “There is a stream along that track,” he said. “I will meet you there, shortly.” 

Arthur turned back to his knights one last time, already feeling slightly guilty about snapping at Leon, and knowing that his pride had bested better judgement. He glanced round at them, fixing each with a look. “If I do not return,” he said, turning to Leon last of all. “You will lead the men back to Camelot as fast as you are able, and prepare for war with Morgana.” 

“My lord,” Leon said, with a slight break in his voice, bowing his head. 

Merlin looked like he wanted to say something else, but wisely kept his mouth shut, as Arthur urged his horse forward and away from them down the track. 

***

When Arthur reached the stream, Alvarr was already waiting for him. 

He jumped from his horse, and keeping his eyes on his enemy, wrapped the reins around a nearby branch before patting his horse lightly, and stepping away from it. 

“So,” he said. “What is this message of Morgana’s that you wish to give me?” 

Alvarr looked at him, and Arthur had the feeling suddenly of being a mouse about to get jumped on by a cat. Then Alvarr smiled, and the feeling faded. 

“You’re a brave man Arthur,” he said. “I’ll give you that.” He laughed. “You must hate magic, and everything to do with it.” 

“I’m probably not its biggest fan,” Arthur agreed dispassionately. 

“And yet you’re here, talking to a sorcerer.” 

“Believe me, if I could figure out a way to get you into my dungeon right now, we’d be having this conversation elsewhere. Now can we just get to the point? Tell me about Morgana.” 

“Morgana,” Alvarr said, taking a step forward. “The Lady Morgana, wishes to destroy Camelot.” 

Arthur snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he said. 

Alvarr smiled again, and then took his invitation. “Morgause is dead.” 

Arthur raised his eyebrows at that. “Really? I thought they had both escaped when the army of the dead was destroyed.” 

“Morgause died soon afterwards. And her death has devastated your sister, hardened her heart against Camelot, and against you, forever.” 

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Arthur said. “I’ve no idea who caused Morgause’s death. I had a whole platoon of immortal soldiers attacking me at the time.” 

Alvarr looked at him curiously, and seemed about to say something, but then changed his mind. He went on instead: “She has hatched a plan,” he said. “To bring about the downfall of your kingdom through magic. Dark magic. Dark as death, and raised from the earth so that it carries the power of the ancients and none may stop it.”

That had Arthur’s attention. 

“Morgana is growing in her magic,” Alvarr went on. “She grows more powerful every day, and it is a wonderful thing to see: wonderful and terrible.” He paused for a few seconds, and a look of what Arthur might has described as fear passed over his face. But then he hurried on. “Whatever her power, she is not yet strong enough to perform this magic on her own. But that will not stop her. She is recruiting magic users to her cause, like me. And she has recruited one who has great power, a boy, a druid who is years from manhood. But his youth is his weakness. He is still learning to control his magic. Alone, the two of them together could still not bring about Camelot’s downfall. It will be my magic that binds theirs, that makes it strong, and will raise the greatest evil the world has known and allow it to pour the full force of its fury onto your kingdom.” 

Arthur seemed nonplussed by Alvarr’s elaborate speech. “Tell me her message,” he insisted. 

Alvarr just looked at him and gave a slight movement of his head. “Morgana has no idea I’m here talking to you,” he admitted. “I lied about the message, because I had other information to give you, and did not think you would come with me to hear it otherwise.” 

Arthur’s face hardened, but he said evenly: “I’m slightly curious as to why you’re standing here betraying the ruler you claim to serve. Don’t get me wrong, your story is a touching one, but I’m starting to question your motivations.” 

Alvarr matched him with an evil grin. “I tell you all this,” he said. “Because I want you to know how important I am in Morgana’s plans.”

“And I’m sure your mother is very proud,” Arthur cut in. 

At that there was a flash of genuine anger. “My mother is dead!” Alvarr exclaimed. “Dead at your father’s hands.” 

Arthur’s hand strayed in the direction of his sword, but he didn’t draw it. Alvarr turned away from him swiftly and seemed to recover himself, swallowing his emotions.

“Forgive me,” he said. “You re-open old wounds.” 

Arhtur said nothing, no apologies, no words of pity. If his parents had been practicing magic when his father’s men caught them, then they had deserved to die. It was simply the law. 

“I tell you also,” Alvarr went on, trying to ignore his own outburst. “So that you know I have something genuine to offer when I say that I am prepared to bargain with you, Arthur Pendragon. To remove my services from your sister and leave her unable to bring about this magic which would seal your doom.” 

Arhtur looked up, curious. “And why on earth would you do that?” he wondered. 

“Because you have something that I want very much.” 

His eyes narrowed. “What?” 

Alvarr opened his arms. “Merlin,” he said, and smiled.


	5. The revelation

Arthur laughed. He laughed hard. So hard in fact, that had he known it, his knights, sitting waiting nervously on their horses at the bottom of the hill below Alvarr’s men, looked up, worried and curious. Merlin’s eyes narrowed as he tried to fathom what on earth was going on between the two men.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried eventually. “Are you mad? You were there when I went to all that effort to get him back the last time, weren’t you? I distinctly remember tracking you down, bringing you back to Camelot, and questioning you vigorously for days. Why do you think I would do all of that, recover him, and then just let you take him away again as though nothing had happened? I mean, are you mad? Is that it, are you actually mad?” 

Alvarr just stayed still throughout all of this, staring at the prince evenly, ignoring his laughter and his aggressive outburst, calm, and unruffled. 

“Some have suggested as much,” he said eventually. 

Arthur met his eyes, wondering if it were true. It didn’t scare him, the idea of facing a man not in his right mind. But it let him know his enemy better.

He shook his head. “What on earth do you want Merlin for anyway?” he asked quietly. “What did you ever want him for?” 

Alvarr tilted his head to the side. “I can tell you,” he nodded. “But it will change things.” 

“What things?” 

“Things, Arthur, that can never be changed back. And I am sorry for that. For this was a noble deed, this deception. It was honourable for what it was, even though I despise it.” 

“Alvarr, what are you talking about?” 

Alvarr began to pace. “You don’t know your servant at all, do you?” he said. 

“I think I know the man pretty well,” Arthur countered. 

“Really? And why did he say that I had captured him before? Did he give you a reason?” 

“What does that matter?” 

“Just curious. Just wondering what excuse he concocted to explain why an evil and twisted sorcerer, such as myself, would choose to take not the crowned prince of Camelot, nor yet any of his trusted knights, bursting with information about the castle and its defences, but a servant. Nothing more than a servant.” 

Arthur’s face hardened. “He said he didn’t know why you took him. He said he didn’t remember.” 

Alvarr smiled, though it quickly faded. “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps he does not. The cave – does things. I never intended for him to be in there so long.” 

“Could you,” Arthur started. “Get to a point sometime?”

Alvarr’s smile returned. “Impatience isn’t a trait that flatters you.” 

“Okay!” Arthur slapped his hands together. “This has been fun. But I have to go back to Camelot and tell my father that his daughter is planning to overthrow him – again, so unless there’s anything else vital you need to tell me, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Arthur turned his back on Alvarr, and started to walk away. 

“Your servant is a sorcerer, Arthur.” 

Arthur stopped, but he didn’t turn.

“That’s why I took him instead of you. He is more important to me than you could ever be.” 

Slowly, very very slowly, Arthur turned back to face him. “You expect me to believe,” he said, in a low and dangerous voice. “That my servant, my loyal, trusted and devoted servant, my friend, is a practitioner of magic? You expect me to believe you, a sorcerer, an enemy of Camelot? How dare you sully his good name!” He drew his sword.

Alvarr smirked and turned away. 

“Why would you say such a thing?” Arthur demanded. 

“I say it because it is true,” Alvarr replied calmly without turning back. He walked the short distance to a moss-covered rock by the stream, and sat himself down, comfortable that he had Arthur’s attention.

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur insisted, coming closer and holding out his sword threateningly. 

“Clearly,” Alvarr said, looking the sword up and down. “But perhaps when you hear my story you will think differently.”

Arthur wore his fury on his face. “So speak,” he spat out. 

Alvarr indicated with his hand that Arthur should also sit, but Arthur ignored him, keeping his sword drawn. Neither of these things seemed to bother Alvarr. “My mother was a seer,” he started. 

“I thought your mother was dead,” Arthur countered angrily.

“Oh she is,” he agreed. “But before she burned at Uther’s hands, she was a trader’s wife, and a prophet. When we were children she would disappear inside herself for hours, sometimes for days. Sometimes we thought she would never return to us. And she would say things, tell us visions of the future. One time, when I was 15, my father and my sister were away. She fell into a trance. She spoke to me without knowing, told me that I would die at the hands of a sorcerer. When she awoke, she remembered nothing of what she had said. Six months later, she was murdered – by your father. But her words never left me. I have sought all these years for an answer.”

He linked his hands, his eyes watering slightly with the memories. But he blinked, and the memory was gone. 

“Years passed,” he went on. “I grew older with my anger, and I gathered an army about me, an army of sorcerers determined to revenge themselves upon Uther for the evils of the great purge. And for a while, the urgency of my quest was forgotten in the desire to bring about the downfall of your father. Then one day I met a boy in the woods, and I could tell instantly of his burgeoning power, of what he would become. He told me of a crystal kept within the vaults of Camelot, a crystal of great power that had once belonged to his people, but had been taken forcibly from them. He said it could tell the future, if one with the ability to see looked into it. He urged me to come to Camelot, to speak with your sister, as she would help us in our quest. And so we came, and just like the boy said, Morgana agreed to steal the crystal from the vaults and bring it to us.” 

“Wait.” Arthur’s obvious frustration had changed slowly to interest. He stopped the sorcerer at a point of history that he recognised. “Are you telling me that it was Morgana who stole the Crystal of Neathid?” 

Alvarr smiled again. “Yes Arthur. Even then she was a thorn in your side, and even then you were too blind to see it.” 

“You came to Camelot to speak to her?” 

“We were in her room,” he affirmed. “As were you on Merlin’s urging I believe. He knew we were there because he’d heard us talking through his magic. But you trusted Morgana over him when she said she was alone.” 

Arthur looked away. Morgana’s betrayal, it seemed, stretched back far further than any of them knew. He remembered that night clearly, remembered having yelled at Merlin for making him appear a fool. But it was Morgana who had made a fool of him; made a fool of them all. 

“When she brought it to us,” Alvarr continued. “The crystal, I held it in my hand, and I finally thought my quest was at an end. Here now I would find the answer to my question. I would see the one who would kill me, I would avoid my death.” 

“So that was your noble cause?” Arthur asked, incredulous. “Your army, all those deaths – just to avoid your own!”

“What good am I to the cause of my brothers if I am dead!” he exclaimed. “My mother’s prophecy must not be fulfilled – not if I can stop it.” 

“But you didn’t stop it,” Arthur reminded him. “I stopped you.” 

“And I told you that the crystal was useless to you. That none of you had the power to use it,” Alvarr retorted, then looked down at the ground in frustration. “How wrong I was. Had I but known that Morded’s fascination with your sister had distracted us from the fact there was another within Camelot who could not only have led us to the crystal, but wielded it as well... But the boy was blinded by his affection for Morgana. It took me almost two years to realise my mistake.” 

“Did Morgana help you to escape as well?” Arthur demanded.

Alvarr glanced up at him. “Of course she did.” He smirked at Arthur’s growing realisation. “You were trusting fools,” he said. 

“So it would seem,” Arthur agreed. 

“When I left Camelot, I had nowhere to go,” Alvarr continued. “My men were dead, I was hunted, my plan had failed. I wandered in the wilderness for weeks, months. And then one day I stumbled upon a place that men know as the Valley of the Fallen Kings. I felt it call to me, felt its power draw me in. Once I was there, it did not take me long to discover the crystal cave. It sang in my blood as I walked towards it, and as I crossed the threshold, I felt as though I had come home, as though this was where I was meant to be. 

“But the power was too great, and after only a short time I was forced to leave.” he sighed at the memory, the loss he had felt. “But I heard whisperings in the crystals before I departed and I knew that this place must be the origin of the Crystal of Neathid. And if that were so, then it must also be a place of foretelling. I did not have the power to see the secrets that the cave offered, so I needed to find one who did. I went to the druids, but they would tell me nothing. I travelled to many palaces, scoured libraries, wherever I could, uncovering ancient texts and long-forgotten stories: anything that mentioned the crystal cave. And in those stories I found one name said over and over, one name said in the same breath as the crystal cave, one who had the rare gift to see the future it kept hidden. The name of Myrddin Emrys.” 

Arthur let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. For some reason, he’d been convinced that the name Alvarr was going to utter was Merlin. The sorcerer seemed to notice his expression, and smiled. 

“You may not know him by that name,” he said. “But you will recognise his story, for it is bound with yours. The books link your two names together, speak of a time of peace that is to come, of many great deeds that the two of you will do. And have done, for you are living this legend, Prince Arthur.” 

“I don’t understand,” Arthur said, his anger growing once more. “How can these books know anything about me? How can they be linking me to a man I’ve never met? 

“But you have met. This is a man who, according to the texts, saved Camelot from a mighty griffin, whispered soothing words into the ears of a dragon, tamed a troll, bargained his very life for that of his master’s when he was bitten by the questing beast. This is a man who will serve you for all time, but who has kept from you the greatest secret of them all. Emrys and Merlin are one and the same.” 

Arthur felt his world start to spin slightly. He felt out of breath, as though the air around him was no longer enough to nourish his being. His blood was pounding. 

It could not be so. 

“You’re lying,” he stated, his words sounding slurred in his own ears. He raised his sword and pointed it at Alvarr’s heart. 

“Your servant is a sorcerer, Arthur,” he said evenly. “A powerful one. And he has used his magic to help you and to help Camelot, and even to help your father.” His face darkened. “And for that I hate him. But I also need him. His ability to tell the future is all I want. Give him to me, and I will depart Morgana’s service, and Camelot will be safe.” 

Arthur was still having problems finding enough air. He struggled to understand what Alvarr was saying to him, what he was asking. Then, amid the confusion, something occurred to him. 

“If what you say is true,” he said, grasping at any sliver of fact he could. “If Merlin has been using – magic to protect me. Why would I give him up to you?” 

Alvarr’s eyebrows knotted together. “You’re defending a sorcerer?” he wondered. 

“Answer the question!” Arthur shouted back, furious suddenly. He hated himself for believing what he was being told, but he couldn’t help it. The man’s words made sense, and the more he thought on it, the more little pieces, tiny unanswered questions and niggling suspicions were starting to fall into place.

Alvarr again was unmoved by his emotion. “I will return him to you,” he stated. “After my business is finished. You have my word. You can go on and shape your futures together, as destiny has always intended. I need him only for this one task. Give him to me for one month, that is all I ask.” 

Arthur tried to force his brain to think logically. “Why not just ask him?” he said. “If Merlin has these – powers that you speak of, why not just ask him what the future holds for you?” 

“I do not think he would tell me… willingly,” Alvarr said sadly. “As I said, I had not intended to leave Merlin in the crystal cave so long. But I do not think my intention will matter, when the result was that he nearly lost his mind. If I want an answer to my question, it may be that I now need to use – some particular forms of persuasion.” 

Arthur flashed back in his head. “When we took you captive, you were many miles from the valley and the cave,” he reminded Alvarr. “You say it was not your intention to leave him there. Where did you go? Why did you leave him?” 

“I had been called away by – business,” Alvarr told him. “My men were supposed to retrieve Merlin from the cave after only a few hours. I can only presume they were slain by bandits or driven away by the same. But it does not matter,” he surged to his feet. “I have stated my bargain.” He stood in front of Arthur, aggressively confident. “Morgana is set to ride in less than two day’s time. Give me your servant, and Camelot will be safe. Deny me this one thing, and I will assist her in grinding your petty kingdom to dust.” 

Arthur’s emotions seethed. He felt as though subconsciously Merlin’s presence in his life had always been something of a tethering rope, keeping him secure through the violent storms they had faced together. Now the rope had snapped, and as he reached for it with floundering arms, he found the ends lost in the darkness. 

And for a moment as they stood there, one brief terrible moment, he saw himself handing his servant over. He saw with absolute clarity the exact look of horror on Merlin’s face, his confusion, his sense of betrayal. His fear. Arthur felt himself sicken at even allowing himself to think it. A crushing weight of guilt descended on him.

“No.” 

Whatever this man said Merlin was, he was still Merlin. Arthur had to give him a chance. If this terrible thing was true, then it was a new world, and everything would change. But he would face that if and when it happened, and not at the whim of a madman. 

“No!” he said with more confidence. “I will not give him up to you. You are a pitiless worm Alvarr, whose actions have brought misery onto my kingdom and my friends. You will not take Merlin from me, not if it cause the downfall of the whole world.” 

Alvarr smiled. “Not the whole world, Arthur,” he said. “Just your world.” He turned his back on him swiftly and began to walk away towards his horse. “I give you one day to change your mind,” he said, reaching his horse, untying it, and leaping gracefully into the saddle. “Look for my messenger before nightfall tomorrow. This will be your final chance. Do not disappoint me.” 

With that he turned his horse and spurred it away back in the direction of his men. 

Arthur felt drunk, staggered slightly, using the tip of his sword to balance against the ground and stop from falling. He made his way shakily to the rock Alvarr had been sitting on, and slumped down onto it. For once in his life, he was at a total loss of what to do. So sitting seemed like a good idea. 

It wasn’t long before he heard voices calling for him, and hoof beats on the forest floor. Vaguely he was aware of sudden movement around him, then there was a face in front of his eyes. 

“Arthur? Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” 

Merlin was looking at him, earnest and worried. Arthur fixed his gaze on him, feeling again that sensation of the world slipping, of everything that had gone before falling away and leaving a stranger standing before him. 

“Is he hurt?” a second voice called, and Gwaine appeared at Merlin’s side, followed quickly by the rest of his knights. 

“I’m not sure,” Merlin said, still sounding concerned. 

“I’m fine,” Arthur stated, trying to keep his voice from shaking, and startling them all by getting swiftly to his feet. He willed his body to show none of the weakness that he felt. 

“Sire?” Merlin backed up a little. 

“What did he say to you, Arthur?” Gwaine wondered. 

Arthur looked around, seeing their curious faces, seeing men he trusted. Men he had all but condemned to death. And there amongst them was the man he should have surrendered, the man who had betrayed him; betrayed them all. His eyes rested briefly on Merlin’s face, and his servant recoiled slightly at the look. But then it was gone. 

He strode through them hurriedly. “We must return to Camelot,” he said, making for his horse. “I must warn my father and prepare the kingdom for war.”


	6. Questions in the dark

They rode hard back through the woods, pushing their horses to go as fast as they were able, and meeting no resistance on the way. Such a speed of course, removed the opportunity for talk and so none of them had a chance to ask Arthur more about what had happened during his encounter with Alvarr, or what the sorcerer had said to him when they were alone. They had all seen the look on Arthur’s face though, and knew the situation to be deathly serious. But they were knights of Camelot: when Arthur told them to ride, they followed him and did not question. 

Only Merlin was uneasy. He’d seen Arthur’s face too, but had noticed a fury in his eyes that the knights had all missed. He didn’t know what it meant, and his mind played over and over with the possibilities as they rode, the wind whistling past his ears, the reins caught tight in his fingers. 

As it grew dark, it was clear that they were still several leagues from Camelot and they would need to stop until the sun returned. However eager Arthur was to get back to the castle, even he could not give horses the ability to see in the dark. 

“We’ll make camp,” he announced reluctantly, as they came across a reasonably sized clearing. Already the shadows had lengthened around them, and simple tasks such as finding firewood, were going to become more and more challenging in the dusky light, particularly under such a heavy canopy. 

They threw themselves from their horses, chafed and sore after the hard ride, but none of them complaining, a fact Arthur would have noticed with pride had he not been so distracted. He set himself the task of removing his horse’s saddle, happy that the leather straps gave him something tangible on which to focus his mind. 

“Sire,” Leon said at his elbow. 

He turned angrily, expecting a question about Alvarr, or why they were riding to the point of exhaustion. 

“We are almost out of water, sire,” Leon said. 

“Oh,” Arthur looked around, calming his temper instantly. He saw Merlin standing nearby stroking his horse and looking at him anxiously.

“Merlin, go and find water,” he commanded. “And be quick about it. I don’t want you getting lost in the woods.” 

“Yes sire,” Merlin said compliantly, though Arthur saw him glance at Gwaine, before crossing to where the knights were piling their water skins. He picked up as many as he could carry, slinging them over his shoulders. 

Gwaine took a step forward to help him, but Arthur stopped him with a shout. “Gwaine, I want to talk to you about the defences of the outlying villages. You probably know them better than any man here.” 

Gwaine turned to face him, somewhat surprised. Arthur did not normally ask him to discuss such things. “Yes sire,” he replied, and glanced at Merlin once more, as the servant disappeared out of the clearing and into the growing darkness of the woods beyond.

***

Merlin stumbled about in the gloom, tripping over every tree root, and sticking his foot in every burrow until he was so frustrated with nature that he wanted to scream. He knew these woods well enough, having been on patrol here with Arthur dozens of times and sent by Gaius to pick some of the more specialist herbs that grew here about. There was a stream not far from where Arthur had chosen to camp, a small stream it was true, but he remembered the water to be pure and sweet. If he could only find the thing. 

Mostly, however, he was troubled not by the darkness and the trip hazards presented by the forest, but by his continuing distraction with what had happened with Arthur. 

The sudden re-appearance of Alvarr in their lives had shocked him more deeply than he would have expected. Of course, he had known that the sorcerer was likely to still be out there looking for him. A desire to know the future was not something that easily went away, and Merlin was beginning to have the uneasy sense that, absent the dragon, he was one of the few beings alive who carried such a powerful ability. Morgana of course, had the power of sight, if she but knew how to use it. But her dreams were erratic and uncontrollable and probably useless to Alvarr. And yet, the sorcerer had allied himself with her again, and who knew what dark purpose they were cooking up between them with a new kingdom at their disposal and Camelot all-but inviting attack. 

What had Alvarr said to Arthur? It must have been truly terrible indeed, for such a hasty ride posed dangers to both the horses and riders, and Arthur would not normally take the risk without great need. 

Tripping again, Merlin grazed his hand on a rock as he fell and decided to sit for a while, disgruntled, on the forest floor, sucking his cut hand and pondering. 

This was ridiculous. 

He reached out with his magic to see if he could sense the water nearby, closing his eyes as he felt it surge through him, sending shivers along his skin. The stream was not far. 

He climbed back to his feet, and made his way again through the trees, this time with more confidence, and then quickened his pace as the sound of water penetrated the night air. He slung the water skins from his shoulders and started to fill them, the icy water splashing about his fingers and numbing them so that by the time he was on the fourth skin, he’d become clumsy and found it hard to hold the neck down under the surface of the stream. 

When he’d finished, he re-corked them and slung them again around his shoulders, staggering slightly and grimacing under their combined weight. He started to make his way back to the camp, allowing his magic to guide him subtly through the darkness.

He realised that he’d come further than he’d thought and began to hurry, cursing himself for being so distracted with thoughts of Alvarr. Even the name of the man still sent shivers through him and as he trotted along, his mind filled with the memory of bruising fingers on his arms as he was thrown through the doorway of the crystal cave. Merlin blinked at the thought, trying to drive it out. But as he did, a sudden and familiar pain began to work its way across his forehead. 

He stopped dead. No no no no no! 

The pain turned into a glow, and Merlin’s breathing deepened as he dropped the water skins and put his hands to the side of his head, squeezing. “Not now!” he pleaded. “Please not now.” 

But the spread of the sensation was relentless, and it surged through him, driving out all thoughts of Alvarr or water or Arthur. He thought he maybe fell to his knees, and thought perhaps that he heard the faint sound of someone calling his name. But all these things disappeared into a great maw of darkness that reached up and swallowed him whole.

***

When Merlin was next aware, he felt himself being placed onto a hard surface. Probably the ground, his mind reasoned condescendingly. He felt heavy, unable to move or even open his eyes. Something warm was at his back. Probably a camp fire, his mind said with equal condescension. Great. Even his own brain was treating him like an idiot. 

As the world faded out, he heard the murmur of voices around him. Someone saying: “…said he’d been ill.” “…probably just exhaustion.” “…sleep until morning.”

When he woke again, he opened his eyes wide. It was daylight, or at least, the grey light of morning that covers the land before the sun has risen. Birds were singing loudly in the trees all around him, and a very light rain was falling on his upturned face. 

“Good morning,” said a quiet voice. 

Merlin looked up quickly. Arthur was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, a fire that was by now smoking and burning low in the cold morning air. 

“Arthur,” he acknowledged, struggling to sit up. He realised that he had about two extra blankets covering him, and he’d become tangled in them as he slept. He extricated himself as quickly as he could. 

The prince watched him with sharp eyes. “How are you feeling?” he asked eventually. 

“Fine,” Merlin said truthfully. Then he met Arthur’s gaze, awkward. “What happened last night?” 

“You passed out,” Arthur said, tossing a small twig he’d been holding into the fire, and watching it smoke with the rest. “Gwaine found you in the woods after you’d gone looking for water and brought you back. You’ve been asleep since then.” 

“Oh,” Merlin looked around, embarrassed, and saw the knights spread out around them on the ground. Gwaine he could see was missing his blanket, and was sleeping wrapped in his cloak. He presumed the other blanket had come from Arthur. 

“Have you any idea what happened?” the prince went on.

“Uh, no,” Merlin said, hearing something dangerous in Arthur’s tone. “I don’t – I don’t even remember it.” 

Arthur continued to stare at him with piercing eyes. “This sickness that Gaius talked about, the one that is afflicting you, does he know what it is?” 

Merlin shook his head quickly, rolling the blankets up beside him for lack of anything better to do. “No, it’s just a – he doesn’t know.” 

“But it makes you pass out?” 

Merlin nodded, feeling extremely self-conscious under his scrutiny. “It would seem so.” 

“Then perhaps you should not have come on this mission. In such a state you are a liability to my men.” 

Merlin looked at him then, surprised by the coldness of what he had said. Indeed, Arthur seemed a little surprised by it himself, and a flash of barely disguised embarrassment crossed his face. But then it passed. 

He put his hands on his knees and levered himself upwards. “We must return to Camelot,” he said, and turned away, leaving Merlin staring at his back, curious and very much ill at ease. 

***

They rode hard again, their faces into the wind. The other knights had been pleased to see Merlin returned to normal health when they awoke, but he’d only been able to quickly express his gratitude towards Gwaine before Arthur had bullied and badgered them back onto their horses. This was no time for idle chatter, he had said. They were on a vital mission. 

By the time they returned to the palace, the gentle rain had steadily increased, soaking them all, and plastering their clothes and hair to their skin. Arthur still leapt from his horse with all the energy of a child, and looked about at his men, bedraggled on their horses. 

“A council meeting will be held in one hour,” he called, as he watched them dismount. As Merlin made to go past him with both their horses, returning them to the stables, he stopped him. “Not you Merlin.” 

“Sire?” 

“At the council meeting. I don’t want to see you there.” 

“Why?” 

“I want you to remain in your chambers and recover from whatever this – sickness is. I mean it.” And he strode away, determinedly. 

“Yes sire,” Merlin said looking after him, struggling between feelings of exclusion and concern at Arthur’s behaviour.

Unhappily, he trudged to the stables, and with assistance from one of the other servants, un-tacked the horses, brushed them down, and made sure they had an ample supply of oats to recover from their arduous journey. He did the job thoroughly, paying attention to every detail, as though his hard work could somehow fill the hole of inadequacy that Arthur had dug in his soul. 

Then he faced the pelting rain once more, dashing out of the stables and heading for the doorway that would lead him to Gaius’ chambers, once again soaked to the skin before he could reach cover. He staggered into his uncle’s room, peeling his leather bag from his back, the material darkened by its contact with water. The room was warm, reassuring, clouds of steam rising from Gauis’ cauldron set by the roaring fire. 

“Merlin!” Gauis was sat in his chair at the desk reading, his glasses perched on his nose. 

“Guess what,” Merlin said, dropping his bag and trying to find his way out of his sopping coat. “It’s raining.” 

“Are you alright?” Gaius was on his feet in an instant as Merlin, having removed his coat, set himself about the task of removing his mail byrnie. This of course, involved bending forward and jumping up and down to shake it off, hardly an elegant manoeuvre. But the thing eventually slithered from his shoulders before clinking to the ground at his feet. Gaius handed him a sheet, and Merlin smiled gratefully, before using it to dry his hair. “What happened?” 

“What happened?” Merlin said, he voice muffled beneath the sheet. “Alvarr happened, that’s what!” 

“Alvarr!” Gaius gasped. 

“Yup,” Merlin reappeared, hair sticking up in every direction, then he dropped the sheet beside his mail, and walked past Gaius up to his room to change the remainder of his wet clothes, partially closing the door as he did so for privacy. 

“Where did you meet that renegade?” Gaius wondered. 

“On the border of Cenred’s kingdom.” Merlin said, his voice muffled again. But then his face and fingers appeared round the side of the door. “Oh and we were right,” he stated. “It’s not Cenred’s kingdom any more. It’s now Morgana’s.” He disappeared once more.

Gaius looked shocked, but still walked to the fire to stir up the soup he’d been making. It was early, but the boy would be hungry no doubt, and cold. 

“How do you know about Morgana?” he called. 

“Because Alvarr told us,” Merlin said, his voice muffled. 

“He told you?” 

“He did,” Merlin reappeared wearing dry clothes, and made his way down the steps. “He spoke to Arthur alone for an age. Then the prince had us ride back here at full speed, but has yet to tell us exactly what was said. There’s a council meeting in an hour, and I can only guess that it will all come out then.” 

“We’d better get you something to eat now then,” Gaius said, looking for a clean bowl on his table, as Merlin sank tiredly into a chair. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Except I’m not going.” 

Gaius stopped what he was doing and stared at his nephew, confused. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean Arthur told me not to come to the council meeting. He said I was to stay in my chambers until I was 'recovered'.” 

“Recovered?” Gaius’ eyes narrowed. “Merlin, did something else happen?” Merlin looked down at the table guiltily. “Did you have another vision?” 

He nodded unhappily. “But nobody saw me,” he insisted, looking back up. “I went to collect water last night and just, passed out. As far as Arthur’s concerned I’ve just got some strange illness. Or at least I hope that’s all he thinks.” 

Gaius resumed his search for a bowl. “What do you mean?” 

Merlin sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Arthur spoke to Alvarr for a long time, Gaius, a long time. And afterwards, we went and found him, and he looked at me with this… strange expression.” 

“What sort of expression?” Gaius was now ladling soup carefully. 

“I don’t know,” Merlin said again. “It was… I can’t put my finger on it. But I know Arthur, Gaius, I know him like I know myself. And something just seems – wrong.” 

Gaius put the bowl of soup down in front of him. “But you’re alright?” he asked. “You don’t remember the vision?”

Merlin shrugged. “Just like the last one,” he said. “Some use these things are going to be to the world if someone has to be there doing dictation every time they happen!” 

Gaius smiled. “It is a bit strange,” he agreed. “I wonder where Alvarr’s been hiding all this time,” he turned away to look for some bread. 

“With Morgana, I’ll bet” Merlin suggested, digging in to his soup with gusto. Arthur hadn’t allowed them time for breakfast that morning and he was starving. “I wonder if they’ve been hatching a plot together,” he said with his mouth full. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Gaius agreed, bringing him bread and setting it down on the table. “But whatever it is, we’ll just have to wait and see.” 

A loud bang on the door startled them both. “Enter!” Gaius called in irritation. 

A guard came in, nodding to them both. “Gaius,” he said. “Prince Arthur has requested your presence in the council chambers.” 

“Has he,” Gaius said impassively, sharing a look with Merlin. 

“He expects you to attend immediately,” the guard finished, then left, as quickly as he had arrived. 

Merlin sighed and leaned back. “Go on then,” he said. “Maybe you can find out what’s going on.” 

“Mm,” Gaius didn’t seem happy. “I’ll see you later.”


	7. A silver tongue on silent feet

When he returned to his chambers two hours later, he found Merlin pacing incessantly up and down in front of the fire throwing off nervous energy in every direction. 

The warlock looked over at the door expectantly as he came in, opening his mouth to ask what had happened before realising that Gaius was not alone. Gwaine was trailing at his heels. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. 

Gwaine sauntered in, all muscles and confidence. “Thought you might like to know what you said last night when you went all…” he waved his hand in front of his eyes. “Vissiony. I didn’t have a chance to tell you this morning before Arthur had us all riding like the west wind.” 

Merlin shot Gaius a look, then back to Gwaine. “You heard what I said? You actually heard me?” 

“Sure,” Gwaine shrugged. “Or most of it. I mean it didn’t really make sense or anything, but I heard you mumbling before taking a nose-dive into the mud.” 

Merlin put a hand up in the vague direction of his nose, then put it down again quickly. “So what did I say?” He followed Gwaine with his eyes as the knight ambled past him, then he looked back at Gaius again. “Did he tell you?” 

His uncle shook his head. “Not yet.” 

Merlin turned back to his friend. “Gwaine!” he insisted. 

“Alright, alright,” the knight said, holding his hands up. “I mean it was mostly nonsense.” 

“And?” Merlin demanded. 

“So you said something about a silver tongue and finding him on silent feet – or paws – oh I can’t remember – um – something about the fire approaching – darkness coming that sort of thing, and then there was something about the prince – doing something…” he faded out. 

Merlin and Gaius stood there expectantly, but nothing more was forthcoming. 

“And?” Merlin exclaimed. 

“That's it. I don’t remember any more,” Gwaine complained. “I was too busy trying to catch you. There’s a limit to how many things I can do at once you know!” 

“Gwaine, this could be important,” Gaius insisted. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything else?” 

Gwaine blew out his cheeks, put his hands on his hips and pulled an expression of extreme concentration. After a pause he said: “Okay, it might have been something about the prince making his choice?” 

Merlin looked a bit confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Don’t ask me, my friend, you’re the one who said it.” 

Merlin made a noise of frustration, and went and put his back to the wall. “These visions are going to drive me mad!” he exclaimed. 

“Let’s hope not,” Gaius said, coming further into the room and putting his hand on Gwaine’s arm in a grateful manner. “In any case, we’ve got more important things to worry about right now. Don’t you want to know what was discussed at the council meeting?” 

“Sorry,” Merlin shook his head slightly. “I forgot. What did Arthur say?” 

“He said that Alvarr is in league with Morgana,” Gaius started. 

“Well we knew that!” 

“And that she is going to attack Camelot in less than two days’ time,” he went on. 

Merlin’s face crinkled in confusion. “He’s betraying her?” 

Gwaine cut in. “Apparently Alvarr offered some deal,” he said. “Said he would pull out of the attack if Arthur agreed to his terms.” 

“And what were the terms?” 

“Arthur wouldn’t say,” Gaius cut in. “He just said the price would have been too high, and that he didn’t trust Alvarr to keep his side of the bargain. He said we had to look on the information as a gift, and prepare the kingdom for attack. But he also said that Morgana is planning to utilise dark magic to destroy Camelot.” 

At that, Merlin’s ears pricked up. “Dark magic?” 

“Yes. Alvarr didn’t pass on any more details, but he said that Morgana needed his help to perform the spell, and had also recruited another to help her: a young druid boy he said, with great powers.” 

Merlin’s face darkened. “Mordred,” he muttered. 

Gwaine was looking confused at this point. “Who’s this boy?” he asked. “You’ve met him before?” 

“Oh yes,” Merlin said. “He was in league with Alvarr last time he came here. He’s got immense power – and I don’t think he means the kingdom any good.” 

“He has a strong affection for Morgana as well,” Gaius pointed out. “With her having such negative feelings towards Uther, she is likely to have poisoned his heart still further.” 

“Mm,” Merlin said, thinking. “I wonder what this ‘dark magic’ is that they’re planning to use.” 

Gaius shook his head. “I’ve no idea. But we can’t do much about it until they get here.” 

“And there’s no way of finding out what this deal was that Alvarr wanted to make?” 

“Arthur was pretty firm about it,” Gwaine told him. “He said: ‘I will never trust a sorcerer to keep his bargain, or to mean anything other than harm to this kingdom.’” 

Merlin’s face fell at that, and Gaius noticing it looked at Gwaine in frustration. He had deliberately not used Arthur’s words when recounting the information to his nephew. “You can’t remember the critical words of a vision, but that you remember word for word!” he exclaimed at the knight. 

“What?” Gwaine protested, confused as to what he’d done wrong. 

Merlin was shaking his head incredulously. “Will magic never be accepted here?” he muttered. “After everything I’ve done, is Arthur ever going to feel anything other that hatred in his heart for those who practice sorcery?” 

“My boy,” Gaius went up to him. “This is a very specific situation and I don’t think anyone in this room would be able to deny the fact that Alvarr is evil, or that he’s used his magic not to help but to harm others. I think in light of that Arthur’s quite justified in his statement.” 

Merlin put his hands on Gaius’ arms. “But that’s not what he said, Gaius,” he protested. “You have magic, are you seriously telling me that you don’t feel personally targeted when Arthur says something like ‘I will never trust a sorcerer to mean anything other than harm to this kingdom’.” 

“You’re a sorcerer!” Gwaine exclaimed from beside them, and Merlin suddenly realised that he’d just outed Gaius.

He looked at him apologetically. “Sorry,” he whispered. 

Gaius rolled his eyes. It clearly made not difference to him. “Arthur wasn’t talking about you, Merlin,” he said gently. “He doesn’t know about you. And when you tell him, he’ll feel differently about magic. He’ll realise what a force for good it can be. You have to believe that.” 

But Merlin was unconvinced. “I don’t know what to believe any more,” he said. 

There was a moment of silence between them. 

Then Gwaine said again: “You’re a sorcerer?” causing them both to turn and look at him. 

Gaius raised his chin just a fraction, and Merlin thought he’d never seen his uncle look prouder. “Yes,” he said. 

Gwaine blew out an incredulous breath, and laughed. “Well,” he said. “If you boys have any other revelations you’d like to make, now’s probably the time.” 

Merlin considered. 

“I’m a dragon lord,” he said, shrugging.

“You’re a what!” Gwaine’s exclamation could probably have been heard in the kitchens. 

“Anyway, moving on,” Gaius said quickly. “We need to decide what we’re going to do about the immediate situation.” he ignored Gwaine as he made small incredulous fish noises in the background. “Merlin, I think Arthur’s right and you should stay here until we find a way to control your visions.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Gaius barrelled right over him. “With Arthur preparing for war, he’s going to be distracted anyway. The last thing he needs when he’s worrying about magical influences is his trusted servant going into trances in front of everyone and spouting prophetic verse before falling face first to the ground.” 

Merlin was aghast. “But he needs me, Gaius! Now more than ever. If there’s a magical threat against Camelot, that’s kind of what I’m good at.” 

“Perhaps, but there’s no reason why you can’t be just as good at it from here as from the council chambers. Don’t let this be a matter of pride.” 

“It’s not!” Merlin protested. “But how am I supposed to protect Arthur when I don’t know where he is?” 

“Well, we’ll just have to figure something out. Gwaine,” he said, turning to the knight, who was still looking like someone had just told him that from next Tuesday, the sky was going to turn pink. “We’ll need you to act as a sort of liaison between Merlin and Arthur. Can we count on you to let us know what the prince is planning at every stage?” 

Gwaine looked between them. “You’re a dragon lord??” was all he could say. 

Gaius nodded. “I think we’ll take that as a yes,” he said, turning back to Merlin. “Now,” he said. “I suggest we get on and do some research into just what this great darkness could be that your subconscious mind keeps trying to warn us about. Maybe a spot of reading will help keep us both us both out of trouble.” 

***

After the council meeting, Arthur found himself in one of those situations where he couldn’t actually remember much of what he’d said. That was slightly worrying given the fact that he’d been ordering the defence of his kingdom, and he spent the short journey back to his room from the council chambers, berating himself for once again being distracted. 

When in his room, he took off his sword belt, and threw it and the sword attached to it, angrily onto the table, before marching over to his window and gazing down into the courtyard below. Oddly, he’d somehow expected the world to look different, for people to be acting strangely, for there to be an air of doom and disaster hanging over his subjects. But all looked normal. In some ways it was a comfort, but he also found it isolating. How could his world have altered so much and yet for everybody else, today was just the same as yesterday? How could the building blocks that made up the certainty of his existence have come crashing down so swiftly and had no impact at all on the people and places that were so important in his life? 

And how could he have allowed this to happen? 

A sorcerer in Camelot. And not just in Camelot but within his very chambers every day, working with him, helping him, laughing with him, hearing his secrets, his fears, those things that he’d said to no one else. He’d trusted his servant as he would a close friend, a brother almost. He’d risked much to save his life.

But then, he thought, hadn’t Merlin done the same for him? Alvarr’s words washed over him in the silence: this is a man who will serve you for all time.

He sighed. What the hell was he supposed to do? The violent anger he’d felt on finding out that Merlin had magic was beginning to fade, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it. He wasn’t daft after all. He knew Camelot’s laws and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why Merlin had never told him of his powers. It would have meant risking everything, his very life, and putting on Arthur a trust that the prince wasn’t actually sure he deserved. After all, would he have turned Merlin in? Would he have turned him away? Would he have killed him himself for treason and betrayal? 

He honestly didn’t know, and five years of friendship at the end of the day, could be crushed in a single heartbeat and the glinting drop of an axe. 

And Camelot it seemed was somewhat larger than he’d ever imagined – that is if Alvarr were to be believed when he talked of the books that had been written about deeds not yet done. Perhaps what he should be striving for here as he walked his path and followed where destiny led, was a greatness he’d never thought of. 

Humans are often too small to imagine themselves the centre of everything, creatures of greatness. But in that one instant, Arthur saw himself as a shining light, a noble king, a name that would be remembered for all time. It was overwhelming, almost too much for his mind to take. He shrank back quickly and was just Arthur again, a young man with a problem, a lot of people to protect, and a pounding headache from lack of sleep. 

He sighed again. He was just going to have to do this, get over his own prejudices, accept his fate, and acknowledge that his kingdom would probably not be standing without the help of magic, banned though it had been for over 20 years. He was not his father, and though he could not, would not, go against Uther while he lived, and challenge the laws against sorcery, he could perhaps allow his own mind to soften against it. What other choice did he have? 

But Morgana. 

His sister, and the evil she could bring upon them all, troubled him. He spent the next few hours with papers scattered around him trying to strategise as to what she was planning, and what he could do to thwart her. He’d left Sir Leon to organise the knights, and knew that several patrols had left that afternoon to scout and take warnings to the outlying villages. And from the heightened noise from the courtyard, he supposed that those warnings were bringing in refugees. They’d better look to their food supplies as well – heaven help them if this turned into a long siege. 

In the late afternoon, he visited his father to explain what was happening, though to be honest, he was unsure how much of it went in. Uther had been intent on some book or other when his son came in, and he barely looked up from it through the whole conversation. 

Despondent, Arthur returned to his room. A part of him, the little boy part, wished that the father he’d grown up with could still be there at his side, fighting with him, advising him, leading him. But the part of Arthur that was already king in everything but name, knew that he had to throw off all such thoughts. This was his kingdom now, and he would defend it on his own. 

There was a meal sitting waiting for him when he returned to his room, though he’d seen no one bring it. His papers were tidied as well, and the room looked generally cleaner. It made him think briefly of Merlin, even though his friend hadn’t been cleaning his room for quite some time – though he had still been bringing him meals, which they’d mostly eaten together. He considered going to see him, talking to him, asking his advice as had become his wont these past few months. But he shook that thought off. He wasn’t quite there yet. Merlin’s lies and the truths of his existence were going to take a little bit more time to settle in. 

He ate quickly, without thinking, without barely tasting, planning a further council meeting for that evening to hear the updates from the patrols, the readiness of their defences, and the situation with the refugees. 

He had all but finished when a sudden movement by the window made him turn his head sharply. There was nothing there. Frowning, and reaching for his sword, Arthur got to his feet, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks or if all he’d seen was the wind catching his curtains, as the window was indeed open allowing in trickles of cooling evening air. But he remained on guard as he crossed the room, nerves stretched, and so he almost jumped out of his skin when a large cat launched itself from the shadows and landed lightly on top of his bed. 

“What that…?” he yelled in surprise, causing the cat to flinch, though it still settled itself easily enough and sat, its tail neatly wrapping itself around its paws, the end twitching as it looked directly at Arthur. 

Arthur opened his mouth to yell for Merlin, but corrected himself smartly remembering that his servant would not be lurking anywhere nearby. 

He hated cats, and certainly didn’t want one in his room. He started to walk towards the bed with intent and was already reaching out his free hand to catch the animal by the scruff of the neck, when it did something that made him stop dead. 

It spoke. 

“Arthur Pendragon,” it said in a voice that was really rather like what you might imagine a cat would sound like if it spoke. “Have you considered well my offer?” 

Arthur’s eyes widened. Sorcery. 

“Alvarr?” he demanded. 

The cat closed its yellow eyes and inclined its head to the side. It wasn’t a yes or a no. Arthur could not even begin to imagine whether this was the sorcerer himself, or whether he had magicked an innocent animal to do his bidding. Not that cats were terribly innocent, Arthur thought, they always seemed to be up to something. 

“I am here as a messenger as promised," the cat said, opening its eyes again. “Soon, night will be falling and the time set for answering this bargain will be gone.” 

Arthur regarded it disdainfully, his shock fading fast as he realised the importance of the situation. It was, after all, something that had been troubling his mind since Alvarr had suggested the bargain to him the previous day. And again the choices rushed through him in a numbing blur. 

Was the safety of his kingdom worth sacrificing one man? Would he do it if it were a stranger, if it were a criminal, someone he hated? He thought of Gwen, of his father, of his knights, of all these innocent people that he was condemning to war and possible death. And all he had to do was give up one person. One person who had lied to him from the day they had met, who had never been honest about what he truly was. 

And who had always been his friend, protected him; kept him from harm. 

He shut his eyes. Could you ever with good heart, make such a sacrifice? Did it make him less of a king that he could not? 

He opened his eyes. “My answer is the same as before,” he said. “I will not give up Merlin to you.” 

The cat seemed to smile in a very Alvarr-like way. “You are as great a prince as they say,” it mewled in a rather patronising tone. “But you will soon find your high ideals trampled under foot.” 

From the keep at that very instant, came the sound of the warning bell, ringing out stark in the evening air. Arthur, in confusion, glanced meaninglessly at the window and then questioningly back at the cat. 

“That will be Morgana’s army,” the animal said, getting to its feet. “Having crossed Camelot’s borders, the advance parties will be less than two hours from the citadel.” 

Arthur raised his sword furiously. “You said we had two days!” he shouted. 

The cat appeared to shrug nonchalantly. “I may have lied,” it responded 

But Arthur barely heard. He was already running from the room.


	8. The army at the gate

“What news?” 

Arthur sprinted down into the bustling courtyard to the sight of Elyan and three other knights galloping in through the gates at great speed and then dismounting with haste. 

Elyan came right up to him out of breath, but he kept his voice low so as not to spread panic in those around him. “Morgana’s army,” he stated. “They have crossed the border. The main force is still some distance away, but there are advance troops that will be at the gates by nightfall.” 

Arthur had already suspected as much, but his blood still ran cold at the pronouncement. “Secure the guard,” he ordered to a knight standing nearby. “Send out troops to bring in as many refugees as can still reach Camelot in time, and get them safe behind the city walls. Any that can not make it must be told to hide themselves in the wilds as best they can.” He turned and began striding back up the steps towards the main doors, Elyan all but running beside him. “Do you have any idea of numbers?” he asked him. 

“Not as many as when the immortal army attacked,” Elyan said. Together they passed inside. “I’d say there were not enough to stage a full frontal siege on us here, my lord. They may try and draw us out to a pitched battle, or attack our men when on patrol.” 

Arthur stopped walking for a moment, putting his hands on his hips and thinking. “Or almost anything where Morgana is concerned.” Then he looked at Elyan. “Thank you,” he said. “You have done well. Look to our defences. I must assemble the council.” 

***

An hour of talking resulted in no further decisions and as the light faded from the summer sky, Arthur found himself on the battlements gazing out over his threatened kingdom. In the early twilight, droves of people still streamed in through the main gate and he could see dozens more on the approach. Soon the decision would have to be made to raise the drawbridge, ensuring the safety of those within, and condemning all those without. 

He sighed, his hands tightening on the cold stone in front of him. Then he felt a brush of movement at his sleeve. 

“Guinevere!” 

“My lord,” she said, her eyes wide as she matched his gaze out over the city walls. 

“You would be safer inside,” he said with concern. 

She smiled gently. “I am safer here than anywhere.” Her face was lined with tension, and something burned within her eyes. The smile faded. “She’s coming, isn’t she?” 

Arthur kept his eyes on her face. “Yes.”

“Why does she hate Camelot so much?” Gwen murmured. “We were friends once. Why is she doing this?” 

Arthur took her hands gently in his, keeping his voice quiet, mindful of his men nearby. “I don’t know,” he said. “And even if there were the best reason in the world, I doubt it could justify her actions when the victims are innocents.” 

“I feel…” Gwen began, searching for words. “I feel like I failed her,” she finished in a rush. 

“How on earth did you fail her?” Arthur asked, turning towards her fully. “What did you ever do but serve her faithfully and be there for her through everything that happened?” 

She nodded, but it was a reflex, and it was clear his words hadn’t gone in. 

“Gwen,” he went on. “If anyone failed Morgana, it was me. I grew up with her. I’ve known her my whole life. And I think of all those things that happened between us, all those things that could have been different, if I’d known – if I’d known she was my sister… I wonder if…” 

He felt Gwen’s hands tighten on his sympathetically, and saw in her eyes the understanding that comes only with time and shared experience. 

And then he said in a quiet voice: “Sometimes I wish my father had never outlawed magic.” 

He eyes widened. “Do you mean that?” she muttered, aghast. 

He nodded, trying to read her expression. “Morgana’s hatred of my father – of our father – stems from his hatred of magic, of that I’m sure,” he said. “And I don’t believe that the young girl I grew up with was evil. She was – wronged, Gwen. I can’t think of it any other way.” 

Gwen looked into his eyes earnestly, her eyes watering at his compassion for someone who at that moment was making war on everything he held dear. She could have looked into those eyes for eternity. 

“My lord!” came the shout from behind them, ripping them apart, and instantly the dull peel of the warning bell began to toll again. 

Arthur and Guinevere turned to the battlements in time to see a stream of torches appear from out of the darkness. It was clear to all watching what the sight meant. 

“Close the gates!” Arthur yelled, his order being repeated down the wall to the gate tower. 

There were screams from below as the last few refugees made a dash for the entrance, and Arthur saw a tear make its way down Gwen’s cheek at the plight of the innocents. The lump in his own throat felt the size of a boulder as he watched the panic set in and the guards rushing everyone towards a gate that was already closing. 

He looked up again at the torches coming ever closer, trying to get a feeling for their numbers: hundreds it looked like. And this was just the advance party, they said. They began to file down in front of the citadel, and he felt a stab of anger at their arrogance at placing themselves so clearly in the firing line with no care. 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a familiar blue, and flipped his head around in time to catch a glimpse of Merlin darting behind him. The boy appeared at his right side finding a space of his own at the battlements and looking over at the approaching army. His face was pale in the darkness. 

Arthur tried to swallow down his instinctive reaction (which was to yell at him and then have the guards drag him off in chains), and turned once again to look out over the wall. “I thought I told you to stay away until you were well again,” he growled quietly, barely to be heard amongst the bustle of people around them, the clash of weapons, the hiss of burning torches. 

“Miraculous recovery,” Merlin explained without looking at him. “Is that Morgana?” 

Arthur shot him an angry look, but then sighed, feeling defeated in the face of Merlin’s continued… Merlinness. “I haven’t spotted her yet,” he admitted. “But I’d imagine she’ll be there somewhere.” He turned his back on his servant and looked at Gwen instead. “I would be happier if you were off the battlements,” he told her. 

She just shook her head. “As much as I like making you happy, Arthur,” she said. “I’m not leaving your side, so you’ll just have to live with that.” 

Arthur turned back, shifting in frustration at his inability to make even two of his subjects do remotely what he wanted them to. 

Then there was another scuffle behind him and Gaius appeared from among the crowds. “Arthur,” the physician said, sounding out of breath. “Have you seen…?” 

Arthur just pointed. 

“Merlin!” Gaius sounded mad, and Arthur even felt a stab of sympathy for Merlin as the boy turned sheepishly to his uncle. 

“Sorry,” he apologised. 

“I thought I told you to stay in your room!” Gaius exclaimed. 

“Like that was ever going to happen,” Merlin muttered as Gaius moved round to stand beside him and look over the battlements. But then all the argument vanished from Gaius’ lips as he saw what was arrayed before them. 

A sort of hush was falling now over the battlements, a hush pregnant with expectation as the line of soldiers kept coming and coming, the sound of their footsteps loud and harsh. 

Merlin turned his head, and caught sight of a small group of people, all cloaked, making their way down the front line. 

“There,” he said loudly. 

“What?” Arthur followed his gaze. 

“It’s Morgana.” 

***

And there she was. Queen now, of a new land, confident in her growing abilities and the certainty of her hatred. Her men were loyal and respected her, or at least feared her, and whichever it was, she didn’t care. Camelot would not bow to her will when she had ruled there, so now she would break it with force, and destroy all those who had made her life unbearable. 

She made her way now along the front of her men, head held high in glee at all that she had done. Uther would never have seen this coming. And Arthur? He would fight and fall. Then this land would be hers, and they would all bow to their rightful queen. 

'Take care, Morgana,' the voice was comforting, and wound through her mind like pungent smoke. 

She turned and smiled at the child following close behind her, a gangling boy, not reached his growth spurt, and with a look of innocence that had been the downfall of many. She held out her hand to him and placed an arm round his shoulder, pulling him close. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said to him soothingly. 

“I am not afraid,” Mordred spoke clearly, and with a confidence that belied his years. “But we must have all our concentration to perform the spell. There are many watching from the battlements.” 

Morgana cast the city walls a look of pure hatred. “Is my brother among them?” 

“Yes.” 

“And Merlin?” 

“He is there also.” 

Just as well, she thought to herself. That they may witness my moment of triumph. 

“Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t want the to miss the show.”

***

“Mordred is with her,” Merlin mumbled to Gaius in as hushed a voice as he could manage and still allow the old man to hear. 

“You’re sure?” he hissed back. 

Merlin nodded, his eyes now having found the boy walking next to Morgana. “I heard him.” 

“Maybe now we’ll find out what this – dark magic is going to involve,” Gaius said. “Is Alvarr there too?” 

“I’m not sure,” Merlin muttered. “There are more people with them.” 

The figures came to a halt almost parallel to where Arthur was standing, surely not a coincidence, and Merlin could see several guards glancing in the prince’s direction as if looking for orders. He swallowed uncomfortably. He could feel Arthur’s indecision. Did he order his men to fire? This was clearly an envoy after all, for all that their banners were unfurled, and their purpose was yet un-stated. 

Then a lone figure came out from the rest and put all indecision in its place. It was Morgana. 

“People of Camelot,” she shouted, and they could all hear her as clearly as though she had been standing next to them. “For too long you have cowered behind a tyrant king. For too long have you allowed the evil that is Uther Pendragon to fester in this land, bringing evil and misery wherever he goes.” 

Furious, Arthur could not help himself from yelling back. “You’re one to talk, Morgana!” 

His voice had nowhere near the magic reach of his sister’s, but its defiant tone brought a ripple of support from along the battlements, as the knights shifted and murmured. 

Had they been standing closer and had the shades of twilight not surrounded her, they might have seen Morgana smile. 

She continued undeterred. “Look upon the new banner under which my men march, under which freedom will be brought to these lands.” She turned, raising her hand, and two men stepped forward from the line, both unfurling their huge banners, which fluttered in the torchlight above their heads. 

Merlin’s eyes went wide and he turned to Gaius.

There on the banner was the symbol of a rowan tree and above it, aligned in opposite directions and appearing to dance in the flickering light, three crows. 

Morgana walked calmly back to her men and made another gesture. The smaller figure standing among them lifted up a bag that he had been carrying and drew from its depths a crystal ball. He held it up in his hands, and Morgana coming forwards placed her hands upon it. Then another figure who had been standing to the side came forward, and placed his hands on hers. 

Arthur recognised the man instantly as Alvarr and opened his mouth to comment on the fact angrily, when he was distracted by a small gasp to his right. Turning, he saw that Merlin was shaking slightly, his hands gripping the stone in front. Whatever was happening to him, he appeared to be struggling not to react. Concerned, Arthur was almost moved to ask him what was wrong, when he saw beneath him a terrible green light begin to spread across the army and out onto the patch of grass in front of them; an unnatural light that centred on the now glowing ball in the hands of his sister. 

“My god,” he heard Gwen exclaim at his back, and around him he could hear further expressions of fear and despair as people reacted in terror to the unknown power being displayed before Camelot’s walls. Then he looked back at Merlin, who was still shaking. Was his servant reacting to this magic, whatever it was that Morgana was doing? He presumed that this was the dark sorcery Alvarr had warned him about, and supposed that it would make sense for someone with magic to feel such a thing on a level he could not hope to understand. He found himself genuinely curious as to what it must be like to be connected to these things, what he had heard referred to as the old religion. Was it wonderful, terrible? Did it open your eyes to new words and new possibilities? Or show you horrors in the dark that you would never forget? 

Then Gaius put a supporting hand on Merlin’s arm and by the look on his face, Arthur knew in that moment with shining clarity that Gaius understood what was happening. Which meant of course, that he was aware of his nephew’s powers. 

Of course he was! How couldn’t he be? The two of them lived together, and if he remembered rightly, Gaius had been something of a practitioner of magic himself in days gone by. 

Oddly, he found that it didn’t bother him that much, even though it also meant that someone else he trusted had been lying to him. 

What was it with his subjects anyway? And why was it he had to keep finding out about these things at moments of crisis when there were loads of other things happening that he should really be concentrating on? Couldn’t it all have waited until he was a few years into his peaceful reign, with Guinevere happily looking after their small brood of brawling children, and Arthur growing pleasantly plump after two many feasts and too few campaigns. He might even be a bit bored by that stage of his life, and just in the mood for the sort of excitement that could have followed a statement like: “Arthur, did I ever tell you I had magic…?” But no… 

“Arthur?” 

“What?” he snapped, totally not paying attention now to anything but the thoughts inside his head. He whipped round. 

Guinevere was pointing down over the battlements, and as he turned to look, he saw the great ball of glowing whatever it was, rise slowly up in the air over the heads of Morgana’s army and start to fly inexorably towards them. 

He came back to his wits quickly. “Everybody down!” he screamed, causing a mass ducking of heads as the ball whipped towards them. But it didn’t stop. Instead, it flew out over the walls, and disappeared down in the direction of the courtyard. 

There was a moment of confusion as everyone looked around wondering what the hell had just happened. Then there was a low BOOM that seemed to rise up through the very earth itself. The wall trembled, shaking as though in the grips of an earthquake. There were more screams, but nobody seemed to be injured, and the walls proved their engineering worth, staying true and whole with barely a pebbled dislodged by the shaking. 

When it stopped, a strange silence fell, broken by the faint sounds of human despair coming from the direction of the courtyard. 

Arthur leapt to his feet. “The refugees!” he shouted. Turning, he caught sight of Sir Leon further along the wall, and the two met eyes. “Go!” he shouted. “See what the situation is!” 

As Sir Leon departed swiftly, taking with him a contingent of knights, Arthur turned back to his sister with fury in his heart. 

“Morgana!” he yelled. “I do not know what you have done, but know this, Camelot shall not fall while I command her!”

“Ah my dear brother,” she called back with scorn. “Do not make promises you can not keep. In four day’s time, a demon shall rise in your midst and lay waste to the mighty kingdom of Camelot. Her people shall be no more, and our father will finally have paid for his crimes.” 

As she began to walk away, Arthur hit out at the stone wall in anger before turning and running in the direction of the courtyard, dodging the knights and courtiers in his way. He reached his destination quickly and stopped in horror at the sight of the scorched and blackened hole at its very centre, the stones around it cracked and distorted by the force of the spell. Around the hole lay the burnt bodies of many poor souls who had clearly not been fast enough to flee, and who knew how many more had been sucked into the crater as the ground fell away beneath them. A general wailing echoed around him from friends and relatives clutching at or looking for their loved ones, and sobs too from those who were uninjured but still disturbed by what they had witnessed. 

Already, he could see his knights organising litters to carry the injured away, moving people back from the hole and generally taking charge. The rest of the evening faded into a blur: the sight of Guinevere striving to care for the injured, smiling at them reassuringly while keeping her sorrow tightly controlled; Gaius, his face ashen, struggling between one victim and another, tending, bandaging, bringing relief to the dying. 

And Merlin alone and unmoving, looking fixedly at the hole in the courtyard with an expression of terror that Arthur hoped to never see on another individual’s face for as long as he lived.


	9. Old dragons

“What is a demon, Gaius?” 

It was almost noon the next day. Shafts of gentle sunlight were streaming through the windows of Gaius’ chambers, but any hint of tranquillity in the room was the result of sheer exhaustion rather than any peaceful state of mind. They’d only just sat down after hours of treating the wounded, Merlin having prepared them a simple meal of bread and cheese. He was now looking at his uncle worriedly, seeing in him not only exhaustion, but fear. 

Gaius looked back at him, feeling barely able to string a sentence together. “Creatures of ultimate darkness,” he sighed eventually. “The ancient books speak of beasts who rise from the earth and consume all in their path.” 

Merlin swallowed uncomfortably. “Why would it take four days for it to rise?” he wondered. 

“Legend has it that the demons were entrapped many hundreds of years ago,” Gaius said. “If it were true, the creatures were likely imprisoned deep beneath the earth, from which location it may well take several days to escape. But whatever the reason, we should be grateful for the delay. It gives us time to at least try and find a solution.” 

“Do you think there is one?” Merlin wondered, then looked up, as the room began to shake faintly around them. The fallout of Morgana’s spell, whatever it had been, had been sending aftershocks throughout the citadel. Tremors were now shaking the foundations of the castle at irregular intervals, creating eerie cracking and snapping noises as the stone and timber of the building struggled under the strain. For Merlin, the little earthquakes were matched with a physical sensation that shot through him like an icy, unnatural cold. He shivered. 

Gaius shifted, looking vaguely uncomfortable as the magical feeling hit him as well. “We can only hope,” he said after the tremor had ceased. “Do you know what Arthur is going to do?” 

Merlin yawned suddenly, hugely, and rubbed his shoulder. “Last thing I heard, he was sending out another patrol,” he said sleepily. “To try and find out why Morgana’s army has yet to attack.” 

“Well, that’s no great mystery,” Gaius told him, with a hint of uncharacteristic grumpiness. “They have no need to attack. If Morgana truly has found a way to raise a demon from beneath the city, it will devour everything. She need only ride in and secure her triumph when the beast has finished picking clean our bones.” 

“That’s a pleasant thought,” Merlin said. “How do we kill it?” 

“I’m not sure we can,” Gaius said, looking pensive. “You have no thoughts on this, no memory of how things will play out?”

Tiredly, Merlin shook his head. “I’ve been trying,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “But it’s like – it’s like the future I saw is… I don’t know, clouding somehow. I don’t understand it and I don’t know how to explain it. Things I know will happen aren’t as clear as they once were. Is it…?” He looked uncomfortable at his own train of thought. “Is it possible that the events occurring are somehow – wiping clear the future? Is Morgana – has she found how to alter our fates?” 

“Surely not even she has the ability to do that!” Gaius countered. 

“How else do you explain it?” Merlin wondered. 

Gaius sighed. “I can’t,” he admitted. “But I think we’re both tired and the most important thing we need right now is sleep before we become totally useless to any defence of the kingdom.” 

Merlin made a grumping noise, but it was a protest that didn’t match his expression or slouched poster. He tried to straighten his back. “Well, at least we know one thing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“As cryptic as they are, the visions are accurate.” 

“The three crows?” 

He nodded. “Dancing in the firelight – and there they were.” 

“Death from beneath us,” Gaius quoted. “Death in the darkness.” 

“That hole stinks of evil,” Merlin said, sounding distracted. “I feel – the whole citadel is rotting, somehow, rotting from the core.” 

Gaius looked at him curiously. “You feel the evil of the magic,” he suggested. “It’s corrupting the very air we breathe.” 

Merlin nodded. “And why do I have the feeling it’s going to get worse before it gets better?” 

***

A mere four hours of restless sleep later saw them both risen from their beds, Gaius to tend once again to the wounded, Merlin to read his books. He had tried to see Arthur, but the prince was so distracted, so closed to his presence, that he felt useless being around him and had returned to his chambers with a determination to find a solution, no matter how impossible it might seem. 

When his uncle returned, however, close to twilight, he found Merlin face down on an open book, sound asleep. He would have left him that way too, had it not appeared a particularly uncomfortable position for slumbering. 

“Merlin?” 

“Mm?” 

“Are you alright?” 

Merlin opened his eyes wide. “What day is it?” he asked blankly.

“The same day as it was earlier,” Gaius said, looking on intently as he peeled himself from the paper with some difficulty. “Did you fall asleep? Or have another vision?” 

“Does it matter?” Merlin wondered, still trying to get his eyes to co-operate. He felt like all the words he had read that afternoon had been sucking the moisture from his eyeballs. 

“It might do,” Gaius said earnestly. 

“Fell asleep, I think,” Merlin said, after thinking about it for what seemed like rather too long. “How about you?” 

“How about me what?” 

“How are the wounded?” Merlin modified his question to make more sense. 

Gaius inclined his head. “We lost another one,” he admitted. “Just too badly injured.” He sighed. “Gwen’s still down there now. She has an incredible energy, a real passion to help people.” 

Merlin smiled sadly, remembering. “Yes she does.” 

Gaius put his bag on the table, and levered himself achingly into a chair. “Any luck with the texts?” 

“Nope,” Merlin said. “I read many things, and they were all dark, terrible, and basically said: the end of the world is nigh, abandon hope and…” he yawned. “Other helpful things like that,” he concluded. 

Gaius looked despondent. “Morgana’s hatred is quite remarkable,” he said quietly. “I never thought it could…” he broke off. Merlin considered him, wondering if asking what he wanted to would just make Gaius feel worse. But his uncle noticed the look. “What?” 

Merlin shook his head slightly. “I was just – Morgana,” he started. “If she’d known about her magic sooner, if we’d been more honest with her…” 

“We did it for her own good, Merlin,” Gaius insisted. “She needed to be protected from the king, shielded from what was happening to her.” 

“But what if she didn’t,” Merlin wondered. “What if… what if she’d learnt to use her magic for good, like I did?” 

Gaius looked at Merlin’s face, so full of hope still after everything that he’d seen. He wondered how a man who had endured every moment of the future, witnessed the end of everything he knew, could still have faith that things could be better, that people could be other than they were. 

He smiled. “We can’t change what is with what ifs,” he said. “We can only live with what we have.” 

A rumble rolled through the castle walls, and they both looked up, fearful slightly, as a trail of dust fell from the chamber’s ceiling. Merlin reached up distracted to brush the dust from his sleeve. “I don’t think we can live with it much longer,” he said. 

“We have no choice,” Gaius said. “Whatever path Morgana has set us on, unless we can find a way to stop it, we’ll simply have to endure what happens.” 

Merlin’s face grew determined. “I need to talk to the dragon,” he said. 

“Merlin, you can’t!” Gaius protested. “The countryside is crawling with Morgana’s men. How on earth are you planning to sneak a 30 foot dragon into the kingdom without anyone noticing?” 

Merlin shrugged. “Under cover of darkness,” he suggested, then hurried on as he saw his uncle open his mouth again. “Gaius, I have to try. If these beasts are as ancient as each other, then maybe the dragon will know how to defeat what is coming.” 

“Merlin, Morgana will know what you’re up to,” Gaius warned. “And if she doesn’t then Mordred will. And what if you run into Alvarr while you’re out there?” 

“Alright!” Merlin protested, looking genuinely worried. “You don’t need to wind me up about it!” 

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re aware of the dangers,” Gaius told him. 

“Well I’m aware, okay. But these – “ he slammed the book he’d been reading shut with a resounding bang and a puff of dust. “These are useless. I need to know how to defeat this thing before the situation gets any worse. No matter what the risk, I need to talk to the dragon.” 

***

“Father?” 

Arthur was standing in Uther’s doorway. He never would go in now straight away after numerous occasions of finding his father in strange situations: twice with his clothes completely off, once with them partially off, and once having a violent and uncompromising spat with an unfortunate servant. 

It was difficult, always difficult to see him brought so low. But it was his duty. 

That night, Uther was simply sitting staring into space. He didn’t acknowledge Arthur’s presence. 

“Father?” Arthur said again, going further into the room, and pushing the door shut behind him. There was still no response 

Sighing inwardly, Arthur went over and stopped right in front of him. “Father,” he said insistently. 

Finally, Uther seemed to notice him, and his eyes wandered up, though they weren’t exactly full of recognition. 

“Sh!” he said. 

Arthur had had his mouth open and was about to speak, but he stopped short at his father’s statement. 

“Sh,” Uther said again, holding up a hand. “They’re watching. Him in the corner.”

Arthur glanced round, but the corner Uther indicated was empty. 

The king lowered his voice to a whisper and said conspiratorially: “That one’s kept his armour on.”

Tightening his lips against his frustration, Arthur soldiered on. “Father, I need to talk to you.” 

Uther gave no sign that he had heard, his eyes fixed on the dark shadows on the other side of the room. 

“Father?” 

Uther’s eyes snapped up suddenly. “Well? What is it boy, spit it out? I haven’t got all day!” 

Arthur swallowed, his discomfort rising like sickness. “It’s about Morgana, father.” 

“Morgana?” Uther’s face softened at the name, and he leant back in his chair. “Such a good girl. She was always such a good girl. Her mother was very beautiful you know,” he said earnestly. “She was so loving. I think I could have loved her all the rest of my days.” 

“Please…” Arthur shut his eyes briefly, fighting his distaste at hearing his father so openly talk about his infidelity. He did this now, would speak with none of the usual constraints of propriety. But he was sick. Arthur had to remember that. He was not himself. 

He opened his eyes, and swallowed again. “Morgana has raised an army against us,” he said steadily. “She has summoned a dark creature of the old religion, and Camelot is at great risk.” 

“My Morgana?” Uther said incredulously. “But she is a sweet thing, a little girl.” He smiled. “She cares only for horses and dresses.” 

“Well, your little girl’s all grown up, father. And I’m afraid she’s not such a sweet thing any more.” 

The king’s face clouded instantly with anger. “How dare you,” he hissed, and then surged to his feet. “I’ll have you charged with treason for your words!” 

Arthur backed up a pace quickly. He hadn’t seen his father move so fast in quite some time. 

“Who are you anyway?” Uther spat. “I don’t remember your face. Some new commander I’ve not met, I suppose, some upstart. And you stand here and have the tenacity to tell me that my own flesh and blood betrays me! How dare you! Guards!” 

Arthur was so shocked, that he just stood during his father’s outburst saying nothing, his mouth a little open. But as he shouted for the guards, he was pushed into action. 

“Father it’s me,” he said, taking a step forward. “Your son, Arthur.” 

“Arthur? Don’t be ridiculous. My son is dead. He died with his mother.” 

“No, father you’re confused.” He put his hands out reassuringly. “You’ve been ill.” 

Uther’s face closed down, his anger dissipating in seconds, along with his strength. He slumped, and Arthur instantly reached out his hands to support him and help him back into his chair. 

That’s when his father hit him. It wasn’t a particularly hard or accurate punch, but the shock of it had an equal impact to a hammer blow. Arthur’s hands slipped in surprise, and Uther stumbled backwards onto his seat. 

“Get away from me,” he hissed, striking out again, though only catching Arthur on the arm, as he’d already stepped back. “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me!” 

“Okay,” Arthur said, angry suddenly, and trying to pull himself back together. “Father, listen to me. Whoever you think I am, I’m your son, and I’m telling you, that your daughter is attacking us. I’ll do what I can to defend your kingdom, which you’re clearly in no state to defend yourself. When you’re feeling better I’ll come back and talk to you some more. But for, now, I think I should leave. Goodbye father,” and he turned on his heel.

“No son of mine would ever walk away!” Uther yelled after him. “You’re a coward and a fool and a disgrace to the kingdom! You are no Pendragon!” 

He continued to say more, but Arthur moved too quickly to catch all the words, striding out the door and slamming it behind him, before leaning on it heavily and shutting his eyes against the sounds of his father continuing to shout. 

***

“Did I ever tell you that I’m not desperately keen about heights?” Merlin said, his fingers scrabbling a bit as they tried to find a firm purchase on the rock face behind him. At his feet, only a slim ribbon of ledge stood between him and a vertical drop of who knew how far. It was dark after all, and the mercy of that was at least he couldn’t see the bottom. A chill wind was rising up out of the nothing, ruffling his hair, and wicking the damp sweat from his face. 

The dragon regarded him coolly from his ample stretch of ledge to the right. “I am sorry young warlock,” he said. “But the situation was rather forced upon us. Rest assured, I am quite capable of catching you if you should fall.” 

“That’s hardly comforting,” Merlin muttered, rubbing at his back, where the dragon’s talons had accidentally caught him. But then, he could hardly complain. Kilgarrah had only been acting in the best interest of them both when he had snatched him up immediately on coming in to land after answering his call. Morgana’s men had been approaching on all sides, he had explained, and unless Merlin wished the fact that he had the power to control dragons to be common knowledge, they were better leaving the area quickly and going somewhere they could talk without the fear of interruption. 

Hence the scratches. And the ledge. 

“You know why I called you?” Merlin asked him, moving his eyes away from the drop and focussing on his companion, forcing himself to be at ease with their circumstances. 

“Indeed,” the dragon said. “Many things are changing, and not necessarily for the better.’ 

“Why am I suddenly having these visions of the future?” Merlin asked first. He’d made himself a bit of a mental list as to how this conversation was going to go, and he was determined to tick off as much of it as possible. 

“There’s nothing sudden about it,” the dragon said, with what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “You’ve been able to see the future your entire life. Or would have done, had you known how to control it.” 

“But nothing like this has ever happened before,” Merlin insisted. “These are uncontrollable visions. They’re striking me unawares. And why now? Is it a coincidence with everything else that’s going on?” 

“Nothing that happens in your life, Merlin, is a coincidence,” the dragon insisted. “I feel that the visions you have described have started due to the events which are now unfolding.” 

“You mean Morgana?” 

“The ancient prophecies are coming to pass,” the dragon intoned sadly. “The alliance has been formed between the witch and the druid boy, as I told you would happen long ago. I fear your visions may be a warning.” 

“Some warning!” Merlin scoffed. “I can’t even hear them, or see them! They’re completely pointless unless someone just happens to be standing right next to me – and then there’s a good chance that person is just going to accuse me of sorcery and have me burnt at the stake!” 

“Merlin,” the dragon sighed. “Your ability to see the future is the only aspect of your magical powers that you have ever rejected.”

“That’s because it’s not a power, it’s a curse!” Merlin shot back. “I don’t want to see future, I’ve never wanted this!” 

“And therein lies the problem. It is not that you can not see these visions, it is that you will not.” 

Merlin didn’t look convinced. “You’re saying that I just need to concentrate a little harder?”

“Yes, and I suggest you do, for you may be the only one who can find how to stop what is happening. Whatever the witch is putting in place, even I can not see the end of it. This is out of sequence; it is not the future that is meant to be.” 

Merlin was confused. “You don’t know what it is that Morgana is trying to do? I thought you knew everything.” 

“I know only that there is dark magic involved.” 

“Then you don’t know about the demon?” 

In all the years Merlin had known the dragon, he had never seen a look even approaching the one that now graced its face. 

“Demon?”

“That’s what she said. She said in four days it would come from beneath us and raise Camelot to the ground. That was a day ago, so I guess it’s only three days, but whatever it is, it’s shaking the castle to its core. And I can feel it. It’s like a – a horror that’s getting closer and closer.” 

“It’s not possible,” the dragon muttered, no longer looking at him. 

“You know of the demons then?” 

“I know of them,” he said. “An allegiance of dragons and men trapped them long ago beneath the earth where it was impossible for them to escape.”

“Well I think the impossible is happening,” Merlin told him. “However they’ve done it, Morgana, Mordred and Alvarr have cast a spell that is bringing this darkness right into Camelot’s heart. I need you to tell me how to destroy it.”

“Demons are terrible creatures,” the dragon said passionately. “They swaddle the world in darkness sucking fear and despair from the heart of every living being they encounter, and turning it against them until death is a release. They know nothing of friendship or loyalty or love or any of those other values your kind holds dear. Hope and dreams are to them a very poison. Had we not stopped them when we did, they would have consumed all life from the land. Only my kin have the power to defeat such beasts.”

A flame of hope kindled in Merlin. “A dragon can kill a demon? Then will you come with me to Camelot? Will you help us defeat it?” 

The dragon shook his head. “That I can not do,” he insisted. 

Merlin’s face hardened. “You’re refusing?” 

The dragon smiled, sadly – almost. “Merlin, I am the last of my kind. When we defeated the demons long ago, we were many, and our bond with man was strong. Now, years of human cruelty have taken their toll, and I am no longer strong enough – or willing to face this enemy.” 

Angry, Merlin almost took a step forward, remembering where he was only at the last minute, and pushing himself back once again to the rock. “Then Camelot will fall, and this great destiny you’ve been forcing me to cling to all these years will be for nothing! Arthur will die!” 

“Whatever the outcome, I can not help you.” 

“I could order it!” Merlin shouted, his voice changing in pitch. 

The dragon just regarded him. “You could,” he agreed. “But I fear it would not help you. You can order a dragon to fight to its death, young warlock, but its power will never be as strong as if it fought of its own free will. I would assuredly die, and the demon would not be defeated. My death would not help you or Arthur to survive.” 

Merlin slumped slightly, feeling for the first time in his life, truly without hope. There had been so many occasions when the path that he walked had been dark or unclear, but he’d always had hope no matter what, faith that he could find a solution to any problem. Now, all he could see was darkness. All the good things he’d seen for the future, those happy moments in court, the day to day normalcy of what the kingdom should look like: it was all gone. He’d searched his mind for it, but it was lost. 

Maybe he should just lie down and accept it for once. Stop fighting. Let it happen. It wasn’t as though anyone could blame him. This time, not even a dragon could find an answer. 

“Only the power of a dragon can defeat this evil,” he muttered to himself. “And Uther had you all killed.” 

“It is Uther who has condemned you,” the dragon rumbled from beside him. “You should have let him die when you had the chance.” 

Merlin chuffed out a laugh, putting up his hands to wipe his face, surprised to find tears on his cheeks. He wondered if they were due to fear or despair. Right now he felt so numb, they seemed like the same thing. 

“There is no way?” he asked quietly. “No other way?” 

The dragon was silent at his question. Merlin was so lost in his misery that he didn’t notice straight away. But then, after a few seconds, he realised that he hadn’t had an answer, and he turned, curious. The dragon was looking vaguely uncomfortable. 

Merlin turned to face it, mindful of the edge. “Is there another way?” he demanded directly.

The dragon looked extremely reluctant to answer. 

“Tell me!” Merlin shouted in a voice that could not be refused. 

“There is – a possibility,” the dragon hedged. 

“What?” 

Kilgarrah was clearly struggling against the command, but was unable to resist it. “It has been attempted,” he said. “Long ago in the past. But it has never been successful.” 

“What?” Merlin shouted angrily. “Whatever it is, just tell me!” 

“It is – thought possible,” he said slowly. “For a dragon lord to take into themselves the power of a dragon.” 

Merlin frowned. “To take on the power of a dragon?” 

“For the very essence of a dragon to pass into a man,” Kilgarah tried to explain. “But that power has always proved too much, and all who have attempted it have died. I have seen it myself, a dragon lord who burned from the inside until there was nothing left.” 

“You’ve seen that?” Merlin swallowed uncomfortably.

“I have,” Kilgarrah said. “But you asked me, and I am compelled to reply. It is possible that if you were to take into yourself my power, combined with your own, it might be enough to stop the demon when it comes from the earth. And perhaps the joint power that both you and Arthur share through the strength of your destiny would be enough then to right the world again, restore the future.” 

Merlin looked away from him. 

“But I would advise against it!” the dragon said strongly, feeling Merlin’s control of him slip as the warlock became distracted. “It has never been achieved, and it is a terrible death that I would not wish on any man. Please Merlin…” 

Merlin heard his desperation, and looked up, surprised to see genuine concern and affection on the dragon’s long face. 

“I would never have told you this,” he said. “I know you have a good heart, and wish only to protect Camelot, but if you take this path, it will be your death. And I do not want that. Even if you survived, there would be a cost.” 

“What cost?” 

The dragon just shook his head. “Such power does not come cheaply.” 

Merlin nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “For the warning. I’m sorry – if I forced you.” 

The dragon inclined his head. “You are doing only what you think is right.” As Merlin looked away again, he said. “You have three days. I will take you back to Camelot now, and I would advise that you think about what I have said most carefully. If you choose this path, do it only in the greatest need. I will come if you call.” 

“Thank you,” Merlin said quietly, distracted. Then he shook his head, and looked over again. “One thing though,” he said, and actually managed a smile. “Can I ride on your back this time. Those claws really aren’t the most comfortable way to travel.”


	10. Preparing for war

Arthur held a council meeting early the next day. In his head, he was already preparing for battle, and he knew his words and actions over the next few hours would have a profound effect on the future of the kingdom. He was determined to take advice from as many people as possible before he put his plans into action. He’d even allowed Merlin to join them again, still uncomfortable, but wise enough (or desperate enough) to overcome his natural instincts. Merlin, for his part, didn’t seem to be engaging much with proceedings anyway, and sat throughout with his eyes downcast, occasionally chewing nervously at the ragged skin on the edge of his right index finger. 

They decided almost immediately of the need to evacuate the citadel, an almost unprecedented step. 

“But I really do not see that we have any alternative,” Arthur told them gravely. “Whatever this danger is that Morgana has put into action, it is here, and the people are not safe. What I need from you are ideas as to how we can achieve this with as few deaths as possible.” 

“Do you intend to force a battle between Camelot’s troops and Morgana’s men?” Gaius asked him. 

“I do,” he said. “This will be the primary distraction.” 

“She’ll be expecting it,” Gwaine stated. “The number of patrols we’ve been sending out, it’s obvious we know the size and location of her army. She’d be an idiot to think that we wouldn’t attack.” 

“Yes, but what I’m hoping is that she’ll believe we attack with the direct aim of escaping,” Arthur said. “I wish merely to divert her men, make them fight for the ground they hold, and hurt them enough so that instead of looking to our borders they are licking their wounds while our people are escaping.” 

“And what if they use magic against you, my lord?” Gaius put in. “There are three sorcerers with this army – that we know of. They may use some form of magical attack.” 

“They may,” Arthur conceded. “But we have no method of guarding against it.” His gaze passed over Merlin, who kept his eyes firmly down at the table. “We must merely hope that our forces can withstand whatever it is they throw at us.” 

“Can we not find a way of magically guarding against it?” Gwaine asked boldly. “I for one don’t want to be turned into a chicken half way through a battle and spend the rest of my days pushing eggs out of my arse!” 

“The use of magic in Camelot is expressly forbidden, as you well know!” Arthur said, raising his voice a little more than was necessary. “We can not consider its use – in any circumstances.” He thought he saw Merlin’s face tighten out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored it.

“What then?” Lancelot piped up. “How do we get the refugees and the townspeople away? There must be eight or nine thousand people here. And we have to move them across open countryside? Where are they to go?” 

“We will send them to Godwyn’s kingdom,” Arthur said. “The information we have suggests that the bulk of Morgana’s army are to the west of Camelot. Godwyn’s kingdom lies to the south, and is less than two days walk from here. He is an old friend of my father’s and he will not turn our people away. I am sure of it. We will send out fast riders immediately to warn him of our approach.” 

“Yes, but, even under cover of darkness, the people will be dangerously exposed,” Leon pointed out. 

“I know,” Arthur said more softly. “We will split them into groups of a few hundred, and each shall have a patrol of knights to protect them. They will be instructed to take only that which they can carry, and move as silently and as quickly as they can.” 

“Sire, there are many wounded from the initial attack still who will not be able to make the journey,” Gaius warned. 

“Any who can not travel must take their chances here,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “The citadel will not be empty by any means, essential staff and a contingent of knights are to remain and fight the enemy when it comes.” 

There was a moment of silence around the table as they all thought of the hopelessness of the situation: the long trail of people making their weary away through perilous lands with little cover or protection. 

“If only magic weren’t forbidden and we had the means to raise a fog or something to hide all those people as they escaped,” Gwaine muttered. “That would at least give them more of a chance.” 

Merlin raised his head for the first time, and looked at the knight pointedly. Gwaine was smiling at him, eyebrows raised, while Merlin glared dispassionately back.

Arthur looked between them, slightly bemused. And then got it. Oh great, he thought, rolling his eyes. Seriously, is there no one in this kingdom who doesn’t know about Merlin’s magic? It made him think back on how many times a similar scenario may have played out in front of him without him realising it. It made him feel rather foolish. 

“Merlin?” he snapped. 

The boy jumped, clearly on edge. Arthur was already beginning to regret his previous harsh words against magic.

“Have you and Gaius had any luck finding out more about this beast that Morgana is raising? Perhaps found a way to destroy it or even slow it down?” 

“Uh, no,” he stammered turning to Arthur, his face flushing slightly. “We’ve looked in all the ancient texts. I believe the only way this demon could be destroyed – is by a dragon.” 

“Well, that’s small use to us,” Arthur sighed. 

“We will keep looking, sire,” he assured him earnestly. He gave Arthur the ghost of a smile. “I’m sure there will be a way to defeat it.” 

Arthur found himself smiling back, though he knew the words were empty. The fact that he was even contemplating the evacuation of Camelot meant that he knew their situation was hopeless. But he knew they were all trying their best: knights, servants – even sorcerers. 

“This is a dark hour,” he intoned. “But we must all stay strong. For the future of the kingdom, I need you all to be brave and remain true to the ideals that we have been brought up to believe: honour, truth, friendship. With these things in our hearts, evil can never defeat us.” 

***

“What the hell were you trying to do in there?” Merlin hissed at Gwaine, pulling the knight to one side in the corridor outside the council chambers. The others were already disappearing down the corridor. 

“What? I was only pointing out the obvious,” Gwaine said. 

“But in front of Arthur!” Merlin insisted. “He means what he says about magic, Gwaine. I’ve only managed to survive here this long by keeping what I am well hidden. Making comments like that in a council meeting is just asking for trouble!” 

“But you didn’t make them,” Gwaine said, putting his hands on his arms. “I made them. And I’ll keep making them, until Arthur gets it into his thick head that sometimes we need magic to help us survive. I mean, what the hell’s the point in giving them an immediate advantage by having such strict and ridiculous laws against sorcery?” 

“Ridiculous or not, it is the law,” Merlin said. “And it’s not your life on the line here, it’s mine.” 

Gwaine’s face became serious. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

“How’s it going to look,” Merlin went on. “When a mysterious fog starts appearing as the refugees leave the castle tonight when you were talking about just the same thing in there?” 

Gwaine grinned again. “You mean, you’re going to do it?” 

Merlin smiled back at him. “It’s a good idea,” he said. “Just – tell me in private next time.” 

“It’s a deal.” Gwaine slapped his arm, just as Arthur walked out into the corridor. 

He looked between them with an unreadable expression. “Merlin,” he said. “I’ll need you to help me with my armour.” 

“Yes, Arthur.” Merlin looked pleased. It was the first time Arthur had directly asked him for help in two days. He looked back at Gwaine before walking away after the future king. The knight made a pseudo-magical gesture at him, waving his hands in the air and puffing out his cheeks as if blowing out clouds of fog. 

*** 

The battle did not go well. As Gaius had predicted, Morgana threw both physical and magical force against Camelot’s finest as they attacked her men in wave after wave of horses and swords and bravery. By the time evening fell, it was clear that had darkness not been approaching, things would have gone extremely badly for Arthur’s knights. 

Still, the pitched battle achieved what it needed to, and the first of the refugee parties had already departed the citadel as Arthur’s men were returning, weary, blood splattered, and missing over a quarter of their numbers. 

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the dense fog that was sitting in the valley and spreading out along the river towards the south and west, but he was too weary to comment on it. 

He’d insisted that Merlin stay in the citadel, even though his servant had been adamant that he should accompany him. They’d even managed something approaching their old banter for a short time, as Merlin had dressed him. 

“But who’s going to watch your back if I’m not there?” 

“Almost anyone Merlin. You’re useless in these situations anyway.” 

“I am not! It’s just you’re always too busy off being a hero to see what I’m really doing.” 

“Oh yes? And what are you really doing?” 

Magic. 

“Oh this and that. Saving your royal hide usually when your mind is on greater things.” 

Arthur had smiled at that. Yes, maybe he had been. But not on this occasion. Merlin was to stay, with strict instructions that he wanted a solution to the problem of the demon rising out of their courtyard by first thing the next morning. 

The demon itself was continuing to make its presence known, and the tremors that reached out from around the area of the hole, were growing in intensity, still not yet strong enough to cause structural damage, but certainly enough to send a wave of fear through everyone when they struck. The refugees were waiting now in crowds in the various large rooms around the citadel, and they would scream as the walls shook, waiting for the end. 

The sensations that hit Merlin when these tremors came were growing in intensity as well, and it was taking all his self-control not to react when he felt the shiver of darkness pass through him, from his toes to the tip of his ears. It was like having icy water streaming through his veins, tinged with a fierceness that he couldn’t explain. It was almost as if he could hear screaming, a cry of terrible rage that was just out of ear shot, but coming closer and closer as each hour passed. 

But the interesting thing about it was that he’d started to notice others reacting as well. The sensation would hit him several seconds before the rumbling began, and if he was out and about when it happened, then he would see servants, knights, courtiers – people in almost every sector of society betraying a level of magical awareness through their response. It was almost enough to make him smile. 

However hard he tried, Uther Pendragon had failed to stamp magic from this land. There were plenty here who had survived the purge, and who were living out their days in Camelot despite the risks. It made him feel stronger, and he even felt a surge of pride, before remembering the horrors that awaited them all, magical or not. 

Unless he could stop it. 

He’d told Gaius of what the dragon had said at breakfast – or not all of it. He’d said that a dragon could defeat a demon, but that Kilgarah would not. He’d said also that it might be possible for him to absorb the power of a dragon, giving him the ability to defeat the demon himself, and had even admitted that it was dangerous, and that the dragon had warned him against it. What he hadn’t repeated was just how dangerous it would be. 

He’d gone to bed after returning to Camelot the previous night, and dreamed of uncontrollable power taking him over, and burning him from the inside out. But in his dream, he had not only burnt himself, but he’d taken Arthur and Gwen and Gaius and everyone he cared about with him. They’d all been lost in the flames before his very eyes, and he’d woken confused and frightened and reaching out, only to find himself alone in the darkness. 

The fear was still in him when he came out of his room in the morning, though he tried to conceal it as he relayed the information to Gaius. There was no point in worrying him. Gaius was an old man, and Merlin knew how much he cared about him. If this was going to be his death, then that’s the way it had to be. He’d deal with his own fears, he didn’t know if he could deal with Gaius’s as well. 

Unfortunately, he got the opportunity to find out when he returned from dressing Arthur for battle to find his guardian sitting at his desk, a massive book open in front of him with extraordinarily tiny and neat words written across its yellowing pages. Gaius had his magnifying glass held over one corner, and was reading intently when Merlin came in. He looked up, anger on his face. 

“What?” Merlin wondered, coming over. “What’s wrong?” 

Gaius laid down the glass. “You lied to me,” he said quietly. 

“No I didn’t!” Merlin insisted automatically. “About what?” 

Gaius picked up the glass again and held it over the page. He began to read. “It is thought to be the most dangerous of magical trials when a dragon lord acts to take into himself the power and essence of his dragon,” he said. “So dangerous is this action, that it is thought to never have been successfully carried out. Gerraint of Ansor was the last recorded dragon lord to make the attempt. He endured but a few moments before his being was consumed by the terrible fire, and it is said that even his dragon could not bear the sound of his torment.” Gaius put the glass down again angrily. “You were not truthful about the level of danger in what you had suggested.” 

“I was as truthful as I could be!” Merlin insisted. “You wanted me to tell you what this could mean? That I could die a horrible death? Well now you know. Does it change anything? Does it change the fact that this may be the way we can save Camelot?” 

“Merlin!” Gaius got to his feet. “This has never been done successfully! What you would attempt will simply condemn you to this – death – consumed by the terrible fire,” he smacked his finger on the page where the words were written. “I had a right to know.” 

“Did you?” Merlin responded, feeling his tenuous hold over his emotions slipping, and tears springing unbidden into his eyes. “This is my life Gaius, and believe me, I’m scared enough for both of us! I wanted only to spare you from worrying.” 

Gaius came out from behind his desk, and walked towards his ward. 

“And besides,” Merlin went on, shaking his head, and looking utterly despondent. “I don’t even know if I can do this. I’m afraid, by what this could mean, Gaius. Really really afraid. And there’s been no one I could tell.” 

“Merlin,” Gaius sighed, and enfolded him in an embrace, all traces of anger gone.

Merlin shut his eyes, and let Gaius’ protecting arms give him strength, then he drew back. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “I never meant for you to find out like this.” 

Gaius looked at him intently, then put a hand tenderly to his cheek, wiping away his tears. “I know you were only trying to protect me,” he said. “But you don’t have to do this. There must be another way.” 

“There isn’t Gaius. We’ve looked everywhere for a solution. Even the dragon thinks that this is the only way – though really he just seems to think we’re all going to die.” 

“Come on,” Gaius said, turning him around and pushing him towards the table. “There’s always another book we can read.” 

And so they did, all through the day as around them in the castle, great preparations were made for the evacuation and the battle, people coming and going and shouting and banging. And through it all continued the steady rumbling from beneath them. 

It was in the very late afternoon when Merlin had set about raising the fog, achieving it not as simply smoke, or an illusion, but actually causing subtle changes in the temperature and humidity of the air so that a natural haze began to form, growing slowly denser and denser as the afternoon became evening. It was a powerful spell, and a great drain, but it meant that he could leave it to its own devices instead of concentrating on maintaining it. 

But the strain of the spell, and two nights of interrupted sleep (proceeded by two nights sleeping outside) meant that exhaustion began to catch up with him long before nightfall. In fact, he was almost about to excuse himself and go to his bed, his eyes no longer taking in the words they were reading, when Gaius suddenly said: “Here!” 

“What?” Merlin jumped.

Gaius was stabbing at the book, and Merlin tried to get his tired eyes open a little further. “It talks here,” Gaius said. “About a stone that has some sort of control over dragons – I’ve never heard of such a thing before. It says: ‘the stone enhances the abilities of the dragon lord, even at a subconscious level, offering a level of protection as well as opening latent possibilities’.”

“What does that mean?” Merlin asked, his brain not quite up to understanding complicated things – like words. 

“I have no idea,” said Gaius. “But it’s the only thing I’ve read so far that sounds even remotely helpful.” 

“Wait,” Merlin said, putting both his hands to his head, and trying to force his brain to work. 

“What is it?” Gaius wondered. 

“A stone…” Merlin said. 

“Yes – perhaps there might be something like this in the vaults. It might be a long shot, but Uther collected many such magical artefacts during the great purge. It’s possible that an example has survived.” 

“No,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “There’s something else. A stone…” 

Gaius waited patiently while Merlin tried to put his head together. Then with a startling suddenness, he sat up straight. “A dragon stone!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. 

“Yes?” Gaius said. “That’s what it’s called.”

“No, Gaius, I have a dragon stone,” he insisted. 

“What are you talking about?” Gaius wondered, but Merlin was already on his feet, and stumbling towards his room with all the speed his tired limbs could manage. There was the sound of things moving about, being thrown, toppled over. Gaius’ face was a mass of curiosity, but he sat where he was and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later, Merlin appeared again with a pouch in his hands. 

“When Gwen and the others saved me,” he said. “After the crystal cave, they took me to the druids. Now of course, the druids couldn’t actually help, but they sent them to the dragon, and one of them gave Gwen this.” He tipped the bag and emptied its contents into his hand: an amber rock about the size of a fist. “They called it a dragon stone. Gwen said that it called the dragon to me, even though I was asleep. And when I got better, she gave it to me – she said I would probably know what to do with it more than she would, though truth be told, I haven’t given it a moment’s thought until right now.” 

“Merlin!” Gaius stood up and came forward, reaching his hand out to take the stone. 

Merlin smiled at him. “Now will you stop worrying?” he asked. 

Gaius grew serious again. “This isn’t a guarantee, Merlin. The stone might give you some protection, but everything that we’ve read says that taking on the power of a dragon is still incredibly dangerous. Please, the one thing I ask is that you don’t do anything rash.”

“I won’t Gaius, I promise. In fact, unless you have any objections, I’m going to go to bed and do lots of thinking about it – or possibly lots of sleeping. Will you wake me up when Arthur comes back from the battle?” 

Gaius smiled. “Go,” he said. “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for heroics in the morning.” 

*** 

Merlin lay not sleeping, watching the light play across his ceiling. Outside, there were bangs and clatters as the first refugee group departed, but he was too tired to give it much attention. Certainly it wasn’t what was keeping him awake. He simply couldn’t get his mind to shut off. He was almost angry at himself. After all, it didn’t really make sense given how tired he was. All he wanted to do in the world, as the room got darker and darker, was to sleep and to forget. 

And then he did, or at least, he thought he did, losing himself in those empty spaces between dreams and wakefulness. He wasn’t even sure if he dreamt the sensation of a vision starting, or if the pain crawling across his scalp and down inside him was real. But from somewhere, he heard the words of the dragon: It is not that you can not see these visions, it is that you will not. 

Alright, he thought to himself. Dream or not, let’s see what there is to see. 

Instantly, he became lost in screaming sensations, the breath stolen from his body in an overwhelming mass of sights and sounds. He couldn’t take it in. It was pointless even trying. They washed over him like a flood, holding him down, drowning him. He was gasping for air, for escape, for anything other than this. 

And then someone was shaking him, and he was awake, suddenly, jarringly, thirsty for air, drinking in sweet breaths as he felt someone’s hand on his head, someone who was calling his name. 

It took him a moment to recognise who it was. 

“Merlin! It’s alright.” 

“Gaius!”

The room was shaded in shadows. 

“I think you had another vision,” Gaius told him. He was dressed in his nightclothes, and presumably had been asleep. “It’s okay.” 

“No,” Merlin said, trying to push his hands away. “It’s not.” 

“You remember?” Gaius asked him incredulously. “You remember what you saw?” 

Merlin shut his eyes, sitting and pulling his knees up as he tried to steady his breathing. “Did I say anything?” he muttered. 

“Nothing intelligible,” Gaius said. “But you were calling out. What do you remember?” 

Merlin put his hands to his eyes. “It’s like a dream,” he said shakily, trying to hold onto the images, coalesce them. They flickered, faded, then came back in a rush. His eyes flared open. “Arthur!” he said. He looked up at Gaius. “Has Arthur returned from the battle?” he demanded. 

“Yes, some time ago,” Gaius said. “I would have woken you, but you needed your sleep.” 

“He’s in danger,” Merlin said, struggling to get up. He pushed Gaius gently aside, and reached for his boots underneath the bed.

“What sort of danger?” Merlin didn’t answer, he was too busy yanking on clothes at super fast speed. “Merlin?” 

“There’s no time to explain.” The warlock staggered to his feet, he felt drained. “Summon the guard,” he said, “And have them come to Uther’s chambers immediately.” 

“Uther’s chambers?” Gaius asked blankly. “I thought you said it was Arthur who was in danger?” 

“It is,” said Merlin, pausing at his door and looking back at his uncle. “There’s nothing I can do for Uther.”


	11. A death in the family

“You’ll keep me informed at all stages of the evacuation?” Arthur demanded. Leon was standing in front of him, bloodied from the battle but having lost none of his dignity. 

“Yes, my lord,” he insisted. “The reports are all good so far. The first two groups are now away, and the third is preparing to leave. Messengers have come back reporting no resistance, and no attack. No doubt this fog is assisting them in their escape. Thank God for it.” 

“Or useless servants,” Arthur muttered quietly, rubbing his eye, which was twitching annoyingly with exhaustion. 

“My lord?” 

“That will be all, Sir Leon,” he said louder. “I will to my chambers and then to sleep, but you are to wake me at any hour if there is anything new to report, is that understood?” 

“Of course sire. Sleep well.” 

And he had intended to. On reaching his chambers he removed his armour, washed, and ate the food that had been left out for him. He looked longingly at his bed, perfectly made up as always, and thought seriously about crawling under those crisp white covers and losing himself in oblivion. 

But there was a gnawing guilt at the back of his head, and the more he thought about it, the less he was able to ignore it. He couldn’t leave things as he had with his father.

Well, he could, it wasn’t as if the old boy was actually going to remember. But for his own peace of mind, he couldn’t. It wasn’t Uther’s fault after all that he was no longer in full control of his faculties. It was up to Arthur to make their new relationship work, and above all, he needed to make his father leave Camelot for his own safety. He’d been so angry at their last meeting, he hadn’t even been able to even get near having that conversation. Better to do it now and get it over with. He’d made arrangements for his father to leave in the morning, with his agreement or without it. The least he could do was tell him. 

It was late when he left his room again. He could hear the continuing noises from outside and knew that the evacuation was moving ahead apace. One thing to be thankful for anyway: that and the fog. 

Following Gwaine’s none-too-subtle comments at the council meeting, he’d had a sneaky suspicion that if he left Merlin behind rather than including him in the battle, there was a chance he would make good the suggestion and provide the necessary cover for all those thousands of people to escape. It made Arthur feel slightly underhand, using magic while publicly condemning it with full force of law. And also for using Merlin in that way. He wished things could be different, wished for the first time that they could actually sit and talk about it. But with everything that was happening, it just wasn’t the right time. 

That would change. Once all this rubbish was over, they’d do things properly. He’d find out about magic, not just scraping the surface and blindly following all those things he’d soaked up from his father without question, but look at the genuine threat, and what good if any, it could do for the kingdom. If that night was anything to go by, then surely it should at least be something they could consider using. They’d have lost far fewer men in that battle if they’d had a sorcerer or two of their own to fight with them. 

But for now, he couldn’t see any other option than to keep up the pretence, publicly deny magic, and rely on trusted swords instead. Magic was simply too distrusted in Camelot; his father and his sister had seen to that. That couldn’t be changed overnight. And even he couldn’t jump in and instantly accept something that he’d rarely seen used for anything other than to cause harm. He was getting there, but he wasn’t there yet. 

He met very few people on his way to his father’s chambers, and thought little of it. Most were helping with the evacuation, or preparing themselves and their families for departure. Soon the castle would be as empty as it had ever been, the long corridors desolate and silent in preparation for the end. 

The ground shook suddenly under his feet, and so violently that he had to put his hand out to the wall to steady himself. Dust fell about him from the ceiling, and somewhere close-by he heard a smash of something breakable falling over – and breaking. He looked around, wondering how long these old walls could take the punishment. And there was still, supposedly, two days to go. If this was going to continue getting worse, the demon was going to rise itself out of the ground and encounter little more than a big pile of rubble, possibly with a little flag pole on top, but certainly not much else. 

Sighing he set off again, reaching his father’s chambers and knocking firmly on the old oak doors. 

There was no response from within. Nothing. Not a noise, not a shout, not a scraping of furniture. Perhaps he was asleep? 

He knocked again. Still nothing. 

Arthur considered. Maybe he should leave this until morning. It was after all, his own rather selfish desire to settle things and clear his conscience that had compelled him to make this journey. Surely he was just going to compound those feelings if he had to disturb his father’s sleep and force him to listen as to how sorry he was? 

He put his hand on the door handle. He’d sneak a loo, and then leave. No harm in that surely. 

The room inside was dark, but not completely. Candles were still lit, and an orange glow spread its flickering fingers out from the fireplace, throwing trembling shadows against the walls and curtains. 

Arthur took a step inside, and knew instantly that something was wrong. Soldiers had that ability sometimes, hard battles gifting them with senses that helped them stay alive in the face of blistering attacks. Perhaps it was the smell in the room, or the unnatural silence, or something other and intangible, but whatever it was, Arthur pushed the door wide, and walked in, cautious, but determined. 

Immediately, he saw his father lying on the bed under the covers as if tucked in for the night and ready for sleep. But his eyes were wide with terror or pain, and the front of his shirt, down onto the once white sheets that rose to his abdomen, were dark red with blood. He was clearly dead. 

“Father!” Arthur rushed to the left side of the bed, a mix of fear and horror and grief gripping his heart and squeezing hard, threatening to burst it. He felt a paralysing confusion strike him, wiping away all purpose from his visit. 

Forcing his shaking hands to function, he reached down tenderly, cupping his father’s cheeks, knowing instantly that there was no hope of recovery. 

“No,” he whispered, his eyes brimming with overwhelming sorrow. He leaned down to kiss his father on the forehead, his skin still warm to the touch. Pulling back, his battle hardened senses kicked in once more, even in this distracted state, and he turned sharply at the sudden movement behind him, blocking the knife blade that was swinging down directed straight at his heart. It hit wide of the mark, slicing into his left shoulder, his blood turning icy at the shock as the injury sent a searing pain down his arm. He yelped as the knife was pulled out, but it fell loose as he stumbled backwards, his attacker clearly caught off guard by the sudden movement. Grasping at his shoulder, Arthur finally recognised who it was. 

“Morgana!” he wheezed.

His sister had tracked the knife as it fell, looking like she wanted to go after it. But at his words, she straightened, smirking into Arthur’s face triumphantly. 

“Brother,” she said. “I would say well met, but it hardly seems appropriate.” 

Arthur’s mind went blank with rage and shock and pain. He spat out the first thing he could think of. 

“How did you get into the castle?” 

“The fog was most – advantageous,” she said. “Though truth be told, you’re in so much chaos here, an army of my people could have made it within these walls with little difficulty.” 

Arthur felt the blood seeping from between his fingers, but he ignored it, forcing himself to focus. “You killed our father!” he blurted out, blinking away the tears that were suddenly blurring his vision. 

“You can’t be surprised,” she shot back. “I’ve been trying to kill him for years. Now, finally it’s done.” She looked over at the bed with hatred in her face, eyes dark. 

Arthur shook his head. “He raised you,” he said incredulously. “He treated you like a daughter!” 

“I was his daughter!” she cried back. “He denied me, Arthur. All those years he had a chance to own up, to tell the world who I was and what he’d done, and he never did.” Her face hardened. “A father who will not acknowledge his children is no father at all. He has no claim on that word with me.” 

Arthur was just staring at her. The horror of seeing his father dead, and the pain of his wound all but overwhelming him. “How could you do this to us?” he said quietly. “What did we do to you?” 

“What did you do? You rejected me!” she screeched. “You rejected my kind! I have magic, dear brother, magic inside me that I did not ask for. My kind accept me, my kind support me. I have found friends and allies that you can not imagine outside these walls.” 

“Friends?” Arthur spat. “Friends that are willing to betray you for their own purposes?” 

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” 

“Alvarr? He’s one of your friends isn’t he? He wanted to make a deal with me. He’d already told me everything you were planning before you came here. Your own people betrayed you, Morgana, just as you betrayed us!” 

“You’re lying,” she spat. “It’s just what I’d expect of you, Arthur Pendragon. Just what I’d expect of someone who hates magic.” 

“But things could have changed,” Arthur shook his head again. “Things could have been different, if you’d only waited. It didn’t need to be like this.” 

“Things will never change,” she said patronisingly. “You hate magic every bit as much as he did.” Her head jerked towards their father. “And you deserve to die every bit as much.” She smiled, her red lips stark in her pale face. “And soon you will.” 

There was a pounding of feet, and suddenly Merlin crashed into the room. Morgana turned in shock, giving Arthur the chance to kick the knife away under the bed. 

“Morgana,” Merlin was panting from his run. He looked dishevelled and Arthur guessed he’d been in bed. 

If anything, Morgana’s smile widened at the interruption, but then it plunged away. “Traitor!” she called to him. “Here to watch your precious prince die?” 

“I don’t – think so,” said Merlin, still out of breath. He circled away from the door, trying to move around to the opposite side of the bed from Arthur. He glanced at Uther and swallowed, clearly disturbed. 

Morgana’s cat-like eyes followed him, wary of them both, knowing acutely that she was outnumbered. Not that it mattered. She’d achieved what she’d come to do. 

“You think you can stop me?” she demanded. “The two of you? Do you think anyone in this petty kingdom has the power to stop what I’ve started?” 

“Stick around if you want to find out,” Merlin said seriously, his eyes fixed on her pointedly. “You’re weak Morgana. Your hatred makes you weak. You see only enemies, only what lies in front of you, and that makes you vulnerable.” 

“I see more than you know!” she responded with passion, raising her hands to cast a spell. But before anyone could act, there were more feet outside, and a contingent of guards swept into the room. Taken by surprise, Morgana tried to turn, but was quickly overpowered, and as she screeched and struggled, someone hit her over the head, knocking out her argument as quickly as her consciousness. 

Arthur saw Merlin flinch at the brutal move, but felt nothing himself at seeing the girl he’d considered to be family, fall to ground. 

In the confusion, he saw the figure of Gaius staggering into the room, also out of breath. 

“Gaius,” Arthur called. “My father…” 

The physician came forward, his face haggard at the sight before him. 

Merlin moved swiftly round the bed to Arthur. “You’re injured,” he muttered, trying to see the wound, but Arthur flinched away, his eyes on Gaius, as if somehow expecting a miracle. 

Gaius simply lowered his head, his shoulders slumping. Then he reached up a hand, and gently closed Uther’s eyelids. He turned to address the room. 

“The King is dead,” he stated. Then he looked at Arthur. “Long live the King!”


	12. Wounds

Arthur looked around in a daze as everyone in the room (barring one knight who was holding Morgana) sank to their knees before him. It felt wrong, horribly, horribly wrong to be proclaimed king like this. There was so much blood, so much hatred. He felt his breath hitching in his chest, wishing he could be anywhere else, wishing he could be other than what he was. He was vaguely aware that they were probably all waiting for him to make some sort of kingly proclamation. 

He opened his mouth. “Get out,” he said quietly. 

“Sire?” Gaius was the one to question him. Even the old physician had sunk to his knees in front of his new king – though he had had a hand from Merlin to steady him. 

“All of you,” Arthur raised his voice. “Get out. Put that in the dungeons,” he pointed angrily at Morgana. “And all of you out.” Nobody moved. “Out!” he yelled, furious at being disobeyed, at having all these people here looking at him, wanting something from him, intruding on his grief. 

The knights and guards began to finally shuffle from the room, giving each other looks as they went and glancing back at Arthur in confusion. Gaius got back to his feet with Merlin’s help, but he didn’t follow the King’s command. Instead he came forward. 

“You’re wounded sire,” he said, his attention going to Arthur’s bloodied shoulder. The stain had flooded down the left sleeve of his shirt, and blood was trickling off his fingers. “You need treatment.” 

Arthur looked at him blankly, then at his shoulder, then back at Gaius. His gaze shifted and fell on Merlin, and he was moved by a sudden stab of vicious emotion.

“Merlin can treat me,” he said flatly, not allowing the emotion to break his icy exterior. 

Merlin and Gaius glanced at each other. 

“Sire,” Gaius said. “The wound is deep, it will need stitching.” 

“Then Merlin can stitch it,” he insisted. 

Merlin looked like he wanted to do nothing of the kind. “Sire – Gaius would be better…” he broke off as Arthur fixed him with a hard look. 

“You will stitch it,” he said firmly. “Gaius, leave us.” 

Gaius bowed slightly, then put his hand on Merlin’s arm, taking him with him a few steps as he walked towards the door, and handing him his bag of supplies. “Wash it,” he said very quietly. “Use lavender. Keep the stitches small, then honey and calendula. Any problems, send the guard for me. I’ll be in my chambers.” 

Merlin nodded, clutching the bag he was handed as though it were a lump of wood that was keeping him afloat in a lonely ocean. He turned back to Arthur. The door was shut, and they were left alone. 

Arthur watched as Merlin nervously came towards him, glancing again at the bed as though he couldn’t help but stare at the horror. Then he looked away and around the room. 

His mouth was clearly dry, as when he spoke again his voice broke and he had to clear his throat. “Will you sit at the table, my lord?” he asked. 

Arthur didn’t say anything, barely looked at him, but crossed the room as he had indicated, and sat on the bench heavily, facing out away from the table so that he could look at his father. Merlin followed behind him, putting Gaius’ bag on the table and opening it. Arthur heard him nervously moving things around, and smelt various pungent aromas rise up from the bag’s interior. But his attention was fixed elsewhere. Merlin said something to him, and he heard the sound, but not the words. 

“My lord?” Merlin prompted.

“Mm?” he did turn then. 

“Your shirt.” 

Arthur was confused, but then suddenly got his meaning. He reached down and awkwardly pulled his shirt up and over his head, wincing as it re-ignited the pain in his shoulder. He looked at the wound. It was deep and bleeding freely, but it was a clean wound with un-jagged edges. It should knit together well. Merlin moved away to fetch a pitcher of water and a bowl, and Arthur felt a brief release from the pain as a pleasant smell filled his nostrils. But then it returned in sharp contrast, as his servant started to wash away the caking blood from his skin. 

Arthur focussed on the bed, finding the sight of his father to have a dulling affect. He barely noticed as Merlin finished washing then straddled the bench beside him to start sewing the wound. Even the needle passing into his sensitised skin brought barely a wince. 

He felt hollow. He wanted to feel – something. Anything. His father had been his world – yes a hard taskmaster, a forceful presence, a difficult and challenging man whom he’d fought and loved with equal measure. But he had been his father. And now he’d been taken, slain in his own bed. He should have been there, should have done something to protect him. He would never get the chance to have just one more conversation, and for all he knew, his father had died hating him, the memory of their last encounter filling his mind as his daughter had stabbed the knife down into his heart. 

Arthur wondered if he’d known who it was who struck the fatal blow. Probably. Morgana would have wanted it that way. It added to the sport. She wanted to inflict mental pain as much as physical. She’d become cruel. This blow was to wound him as him as much as it had their father. 

He should have her put to death immediately. 

Or maybe not. Maybe he should leave her here as the demon rose. Leave her to face it alone in a cage, to be destroyed by her own evil, her own magic. It seemed a reasonable fate for a sorcerer. If they could contain her. He would have to think about that. 

“I’m sorry – about your father.” 

The voice startled him at first. He realised that he’d drifted off, forgotten that he was even in this room, that someone was sitting close beside him stitching together his skin. 

He turned his head away from the bed and stared fixedly at Merlin. His servant’s face was a mass of concentration as he sewed up the King’s wound. Arthur felt his hands shaking slightly, but he didn’t even look to see what kind of a job he was doing. He just stared. 

The cruel emotion he’d felt earlier bubbled back to the surface. He grabbed at it. 

“I’m surprised,” he said. It felt like he hadn’t spoken in years. 

“At what?” Merlin said quietly. 

“At you,” he said. 

Merlin glanced up. There was sweat forming on his brow from the effort he was taking and the pressure he was under. He looked confused. “Why are you surprised at me?” 

“Well,” Arthur said, taking a breath and feeling a dull tug on his stitches. “I thought you hated my father.” 

Merlin looked incredulous, and opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur went on: 

“After all, he hated you.” 

Merlin was clearly confused. He breathed out a sort of semi-laugh, and went back to Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m not sure he noticed me enough to hate me,” he corrected. “I mean – I think he thought I was incompetent, but I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say he hated me.” 

Arthur smiled faintly. “Oh I didn’t mean you in particular,” he went on breezily. “I meant he hated you the way he hated all sorcerers.” 

He wasn’t sure what kind of a reaction he’d been expecting. Shock. Denial. Apologetic? The part of him that was hungry for drama even hoped it might be violent; that the sorcerer beside him would reveal himself in all his majesty and he would be forced to fight for his life. 

But he didn’t get any of that. 

At his utterance, Merlin’s fingers briefly stopped stitching, and his eyes found their way up to Arthur’s face. But his expression was peculiar. Surprise, yes a bit of that, but then fading almost instantly into what Arthur could only describe as relief, before shutting off entirely. He went back to his shoulder. 

If anything his shaking hands calmed somewhat. But Arthur could see him swallow. 

“How long have you known?” 

No denial. 

“Since Alvarr told me,” Arthur said. 

His eyes flicked up again, and he nodded slightly. “That makes sense,” he said. “I knew he’d said something to you that day.” He went back to the wound. “You’ve treated me differently ever since.” 

Arthur’s brow creased at his lack of reaction. “You’re not afraid?” he demanded. “Of what I might do?” 

Merlin just shook his head. He finished his stitching and reached for a small pair of snippers to cut the thread. Only then did Arthur check to see what his wound looked like. It was closed, the stitches ridiculously neat and small. Merlin put the snippers back and reached for another small bowl. He began to pour honey into it and mix it with something that looked suspiciously like flower petals. 

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he explained, but didn’t raise his eyes from the bowl. 

“So you do not deny that you have magic?” 

Merlin shook his head. 

“Or that you have used it in this kingdom where its practice is banned?” 

His face tightened somewhat, but he responded: “I do not deny it.” 

Arthur wanted to hit him then, just wanted to lay into him. It actually took an effort not to. “Why?” he asked in a choked voice.

Merlin continued mixing. He was clearly tense. “It’s my destiny to protect you,” he said quickly in a small and cracked voice that Arthur could barely hear. 

Arthur laughed suddenly, causing Merlin to jump. “Protect me?” he demanded incredulously. “How could you possibly use magic to protect me?” 

Merlin continued stirring. The mixture was presumably stirred to death by this point. “There are many magical threats, sire,” he said, in the same quiet voice. He stole a small look at Arthur’s face. “It has been my duty – and my privilege – to protect you from them.” Finally he started to smear the honey over Arthur’s wound using the spoon he’d been mixing with. 

“For how long?” 

“Sire?” 

“For how long? I mean did you learn magic here where it’s banned? Did Gaius teach you? I know he used to practice so there’s no point denying it. How long have you had magic and been protecting me from all these incredible magical threats?” 

Merlin ignored the increasingly sarcastic tone to his voice and continued to treat the wound. “I’ve had magic my whole life,” he said. “And I’ve used it to protect you since almost the day we met.” He put the bowl back on the table and reached for a role of linen bandage. “I used it in the great hall that day when the witch threw a knife at you. Had I not been there you would have died.” He began to put the bandage on, wrapping it round quickly, presumably awkward at their proximity now that he was being questioned about something so intimately controversial. 

“And you can see the future?” 

At those words, Merlin did look at him in shock. He hadn’t been expecting Arthur to know about that. “Yes,” he admitted, his hands stilled suddenly. Then he shook his head slightly and reached again for the snippers. “It’s why Alvarr wanted me in the first place.” He began to slice off the bandage and then split the end down the centre so that he could tie it off. 

“He still wants you for it,” Arthur told him, his eyes fixed to his face. “Badly. He was willing to trade his allegiance to Morgana if I was willing to give you up to him.”

“Really?” Merlin sounded amazed as he tied a knot around Arthur’s shoulder. “That was the deal and you didn’t give me up? Why? You could have protected the kingdom?” 

He finished finally, but didn’t clear up the remnants of the treatment. Instead, he quickly got himself off the bench and moved away from the King. A sensible move, Arthur had to admit. He swivelled his shoulder to see how much movement he had in it, satisfied to find it pliant enough, though it did ache. Then he got to his feet as well. His own shirt was ruined, so he crossed to his father’s cupboard and pulled out a replacement, slipping it over his head with barely a thought. 

When he turned back, Merlin was standing beside the bed, moving slightly from foot to foot, hands behind his back, eyes on Arthur. The king realised that he hadn’t answered his question. 

“I don’t betray my friends,” he said, twitching his shirt into place as he came forward. “I don’t hand them over to sorcerers – no matter if it cost the whole kingdom. I trusted you instead.” His eyes were drawn once more to his father, blood stained and still beneath the covers. “And now this,” he whispered. 

“I did not kill your father, Arthur,” Merlin insisted quickly. “This is nothing to do with me.” 

“Really?” Arthur said coming forward. “Your actions helped Morgana.” 

“What?” Merlin was incredulous. “Which actions?” 

“The fog? You’re going to deny that’s yours? I knew from the moment Gwaine mentioned it at the council meeting that you would try something like this.” Merlin just stood there with his mouth open. “It provided the perfect cover for Morgana to enter the kingdom and murder my father!” 

“It was intended to protect the refugees!” Merlin exclaimed, still no denial. 

“And you expect me to believe that you’re not in league with her?” 

“Who Morgana? No, she hates me. I poisoned her Arthur, poisoned her to protect this kingdom. And she has never forgiven me. And I killed her sister, I don’t think she cares for me very much for that either.” 

Ah. “So that was you?” 

“Yes – just one of those incredible magical threats we were talking about.” 

“And you never thought to tell me?” 

“What, that I killed Morgausse, or that I had magic?” 

“Either.” 

“No, because admitting one would have meant admitting the other, and magic’s sort of punishable by death around here.” 

“So you expect me to believe that my father’s murder brings absolutely no pleasure to you at all? To you a sorcerer, when he’s killed hundreds of your kind. Who would have killed you if he’d known the truth.” 

“No pleasure,” Merlin insisted without hesitation. 

“No?” 

He shook his head. 

“Then why didn’t you warn me?” Arthur all but screamed at him. 

There was a horrible moment of silence as they stared at each other, both breathing hard. 

Arthur shook his head. Soul sick. “You have magic,” he said. “You have the gift of sight. You were here tonight in this room before the guards before anyone. You knew this would happen.” 

Merlin’s eyes started to glint. “Yes,” he admitted in a whisper. 

Arthur came towards him, tears on his own cheeks now. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, words full of emotion. He took a few steps towards his servant, who didn’t move. “Why didn’t you save my father?” 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said.

“You’re sorry!” Arthur yelled. “My father is dead, and you’re sorry. You could have stopped this from happening. What the hell is the point of having magic if it can’t prevent something like this?” 

“I couldn’t,” Merlin insisted, his tears now starting in empathy at Arthur’s pain. “I saw your danger, I couldn’t do anything for your father. I could never have saved him. Arthur, I’m so sorry.” 

With a cry of heart wrenching agony, Arthur made a rush forward, grabbing him by his jacket and forcing him backwards until he made contact with the wall. Arthur held him there, inches from his face. “You are no friend of mine,” he hissed out, hands trembling as they squeezed the material as tight as they could. “I sacrificed this kingdom to keep you safe, and you have betrayed me.” 

Merlin looked up and away from him, tears streaming down his face. He didn’t struggle.

“Magic is banned for a reason,” Arthur went on with passion. “Because it corrupts the soul, as it has corrupted yours. You let this happen, you let Morgana kill my father. And for that I will never trust you again.” He shoved him once more, and Merlin flinched, but said nothing, did nothing. Then Arthur backed off, breathing hard. Merlin still didn’t look at him. 

“Get out,” Arthur hissed. “I never want to see you again.” 

At that, Merlin did look at him, disbelief on his face. “Sire…” he took a few steps forward. 

“Out!” Arthur yelled. “Get out! I told you to go, just go!” 

And with that, Merlin turned and fled the room. And when he was gone, Arthur collapsed to the floor, and wept as he hadn’t done since he was a child. 

*** 

“Merlin?” Gaius knew immediately that something was wrong as soon as Merlin burst through the door, his eyes red, blood still on his hands. “What happened?” 

His ward pushed past him without a word, running to his room at the back. 

“Merlin?” Gaius demanded again, confused. Surely Merlin could not be this upset at Uther’s death. He must have argued with Arthur. Then the boy re-emerged from his room holding a pouch in his hand. Gaius’ eyes widened as he recognised it as the bag that held the dragon stone. He fixed Merlin with a look. “What happened?” he asked firmly. 

Merlin wiped his hand quickly over his face, wiping away traitor tears and leaving faint streaks of red. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I have to do this.” 

But as he tried to walk past Gaius once more, his uncle grabbed him with surprisingly strong fingers. “What happened?” 

Merlin looked into his uncle’s face, seeing worry and care and love – and he wanted to break down right there and give up on everything. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. 

“He knows,” he spluttered out. “Arthur knows about my magic. Alvarr told him.” 

Gaius’ eyes went wide. “He knows?” he let go of his arm in shock. “What did he say?” 

“Oh just that – I was responsible for his father’s death, that I couldn’t be trusted, and that he never wanted to see me again.” 

Gaius’ heart melted at his woeful confession. “Merlin he’s angry, he’s grieving, he’s just lost his father. We all say things we don’t mean in these situations.” 

“I don’t think so,” Merlin insisted, fresh tears falling. “He sounded pretty much like he meant it, Gaius.” 

“So this is your solution? Killing yourself on a meaningless quest?” 

“It’s not meaningless!” Merlin insisted. “This could save Camelot!” 

“Or end in your hideous death! Merlin please, think about what you’re doing! Don’t do this out of anger. We’ll find another way to defeat the demon, and Arthur will regret what he’s said. You’ll see. Please, wait. Go to bed, sleep on it. You’re exhausted.” 

Melrin shook his head vigorously. “I’ve made up my mind,” he insisted. Then he stepped forward and enfolded his uncle in an embrace. “I’m sorry Gaius,” he said in his ear. “I love you.” Then he ripped himself away, and left without a backwards glance.


	13. Understanding

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he stayed there on the ground. It felt like days. His misery was so intense that the cold was like a blanket, enveloping his grief. He never wanted to move. 

Then, at some point, he felt warm hands on his shoulders, on his neck, embracing him, warm lips kissing his head, a body wrapping itself round him, holding him. 

He allowed Gwen to bring him back, to re-surface him from the cold. By that point his tears were spent, and the hollowness had returned, replacing his anger and grief with dull nothingness. He wanted to feel again.

They sat there together for some time, neither one of them speaking, Gwen rocking him silently. When another strong tremor passed through the castle walls, he tightened his grip on her. Gwen glanced up at the ceiling with fear.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured. 

She looked down at him and smiled. “I know,” she said, stroking his hair. 

He returned her gaze blankly. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“For all this. It’s not much of a kingdom I’ve built for you.” 

“You didn’t build the kingdom for me, Arthur,” she corrected. “You built if for everyone.” 

He looked into her eyes. “I want to build it for you,” he insisted, and he leaned in and kissed her, long and tenderly, and god that made him feel. 

Better. 

They broke apart eventually, and she hugged him close, rubbing his back. “Come on,” she said in his ear. “Let them take care of your father. Let me take care of you. You need to sleep.” 

Surprisingly, perhaps, he resisted very little, and allowed her to badger him to his feet. He crossed to the bed and planted one more farewell kiss onto his father’s cold skin, then she led him from the room, nodding to the guards as they passed. 

Back in his own chambers, she took care of him as she'd said she would, insisting that he wash, fussing over the wound, re-bandaging it when it got wet. There was food there, and she forced him to eat: he tasted nothing. There was wine too, though he drank very little of it. 

And throughout it all, Gwen just sat there and talked to him, asking him questions from time to time, but mostly just chatting. It was normal. It was what he needed. 

“You’re looking a little better,” she said eventually. It was dark now, pitch black; the middle of the night. But she showed no sign of tiring. There was still a smile on her lips. 

Eventually he smiled back at her, but he felt exhausted and drained suddenly. “Thank you,” he reached a hand across the table and took hers in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles tenderly. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Gwen. You are the one thing in my life I know I can truly rely on.” 

She smiled back warmly, but demurely. “Oh I’m sure that’s not true.” 

“Believe me,” he said, drawing back and sighing. He picked up a cloth from the side of the table and wiped his mouth. “After tonight I’m beginning to wonder if I can trust anyone any more.” 

Gwen frowned at that. “Arthur, Morgana wasn’t your fault. She hated your father, and would have done anything she could to cause this. Don’t lose your faith in the world because of her.” 

Arthur looked slightly glazed. “It’s not just her,” he said. 

“Oh?” Gwen was confused. “Did I miss something?” 

He sighed again, more deeply. “I had a fight,” he admitted. “With Merlin.” 

“Merlin?” now she was really confused. “What on earth about?” 

He blew out more air and made faces, moving his head around. “He – just – I can’t trust him,” he finished randomly. 

“What do you mean? You know you can trust Merlin. He’s probably the most faithful servant in Camelot.” 

“Well, he’s not as faithful as you think, Gwen.” 

“Why? What’s he done?” 

He shook his head firmly. “You don’t need to worry about it.” 

“No, Arthur tell me. What has he done to upset you so much?” 

Arthur had been trying to wriggle out of telling her, but he realised suddenly that he was trying to protect his servant, and what the hell did that matter now anyway? “Merlin has magic,” he said bluntly. 

The look on Gwen’s face at the revelation wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting. “Oh. How did you find out?” 

His eyes opened wide in realisation. “You knew!” he said in a very unmanly, high-pitched voice. He got to his feet and pointed at her accusingly. “You knew Merlin had magic and you didn’t tell me!” 

“Of course I didn’t tell you Arthur. You might have had him killed. Or exiled.” 

“I…” Arthur spluttered indignant. “…wouldn’t have had him killed!” 

“Really? What did you do to him tonight?” 

“I – sent him away,” he blustered. “I told him…” he looked at Gwen, who had raised her eyebrows. He sighed. “I told him I didn’t want to see him again.” 

“You did what?” she exclaimed. “Arthur, Merlin can’t help having magic! He was born with it. And he uses it to protect you. I’ve heard dozens of stories about times he’s saved your life, or stopped you being injured by some evil magical opponent.” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said holding up a hand. “I don’t care what he’s done for me in the past. He lied to me Gwen, and he let my father die.” 

“Let your father die? As I understand it, it was Morgana who killed your father.” She got to her feet. “Arthur, don’t place blame on people who don’t deserve it. There’s plenty enough to go around.” 

“Speaking of blame, how did you know?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips. “About the magic?” 

“I found out when he was ill, when Alvarr put him in that cave and you brought him back to us. Gaius confessed to me that he had magic, and that it was the source of his illness. So we took him away, Lancelot, Gwaine and I. We took him to the druids. That’s where we went for a cure. One of them told me that Merlin had a destiny, that he was important, vital for the future of Camelot.” 

She glossed over any mention of dragons. 

Arthur didn’t say anything. 

“Did you really banish him?” 

“I didn’t – banish him. I just – said I didn’t want to see him again.” 

She crossed her arms and looked faintly angry. 

He sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. “I may have been over-hasty,” he admitted. 

Gwen softened instantly, and came over to him. “You’ve had a terrible night,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “It’s understandable that you were upset. But Arthur, Merlin is your friend, and he’s loyal, and if there’s anything he could have done to save your father, I’m sure he would have done it. I know you’re angry now, I know because I’ve been there. When I found out about his magic, I could barely look at him the same. Truth be told, I've been distant from him these past few months since I found out.” She paused. “Truth be told, I’ve been avoiding him,” she looked away from him, embarrassed. “I’ve tried not to, and he’s the same Merlin he’s always been, but once you know, it – changes things.” 

Arthur put his hand to her face, lifting her chin round so that she was looking at him. “It does change things,” he echoed. “But you’re right. I’m just…" he moved away, frustrated. "Everything’s so wrong, tonight, Guinevere. The whole world is upside down. And I needed someone to just – be angry at. And magic… it’s just – it’s just everything that’s wrong with my world, if that makes sense. It’s like the sum of all my problems. Or that’s what it seems like anyway. I don’t know how to accept him with this – this thing hanging over him. He’s like a different person now. It’s like I’ve lost Merlin and been left with this… other person. It’s not him anymore.” 

She held his gaze, open and honest. “I think,” she said. “If any of us are going to survive this, I think we all need to overcome our fears and accept what is. He’s still Merlin, Arthur. He’s still your friend. Nothing changes that.” 

Arthur sighed tiredly, he felt near tears but angrily pushed them away. He’d done with tears. Then Gwen was speaking again. 

“Sleep on it,” she said. “Settle it with him in the morning. Things always look better after a good sleep.” 

He nodded, his face decisive. “No,” he said determinedly. “I’ll settle it with him now.” 

“Arthur…” 

He took her hands firmly. “I’ve waited too long to settle things in the past,” he said. “I’m not making the same mistake again.” 

***

Arthur spent the entire walk to Gaius’ chambers working out what he was going to say to his servant. 

He was tired, and the parts of his brain that produced language didn’t seem to be functioning as well as usual, but he still had something fairly decent figured out by the time he reached the appropriate door. It was all about their time together, how they all had secrets, and how things could be said in anger at times of high emotion etc etc. 

He was less than pleased to discover on going in, therefore, that Merlin wasn’t there. 

“What do you mean he isn’t here?” 

“I mean exactly what I say, your majesty,” Gaius told him in a flat voice. 

Arthur turned, frustrated, and paced. “This is so typical!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “The one time I tell him to do something and he actually does it. Where is he?” He turned back. 

“I don’t know.” 

Arthur shook his head. “He’s there when I don’t want him, he’s not here when I do want him. He really is just the most – useless - incompetent…” 

“Oh for goodness sakes Arthur!” 

The new king turned, amazed. He was so shocked at Gaius’ disrespectful tone and words that he thought maybe this man was not the physician he’d known for years. Perhaps he was a double, a doppelganger. But it was indeed Gaius standing before him. And he wasn’t done scolding yet either. 

“For once in your life, can’t you think of something other than yourself!” 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and anger flooded through him. But it was anger that dissipated almost instantly when he realised that there were tears on Gaius’ cheeks. He’d never once seen Gaius cry. 

He said, slowly: “Where is he?” 

Gaius sank into a chair. “I don’t know,” he repeated, his aged voice full of sorrow. 

Arthur came forward, fearful suddenly. “We argued,” he said. 

“I know.” 

“I said things I shouldn’t have.” 

I know that too.” 

“I need to speak to him Gaius. Please, if you’ve got any idea where he might be.” 

Gaius put his hands together in his lap. “He’s gone, Arthur. And he may not be coming back.” 

“What do you mean gone? Because of what I said? Where’s he gone: out there? Morgana’s men are everywhere, he won’t make it more than a few paces from the castle! Is he trying to go home? Where?” Arthur’s exhaustion was making his speech confused, and he sounded shrill in his own ears. 

“You don’t understand,” Gaius told him calmly. “He’s not just run away. Whatever you think of Merlin, Arthur, he isn’t a coward.”

“I don’t think that,” Arthur insisted, taking another pace forward. “But the things I said – he might have gotten the impression that I wanted him to leave.” 

“You said you never wanted to see him again.” 

“That’s kind of what I was referring to.” 

“You upset him,” Gaius said plainly. “More than you know.” 

“And I’ll apologise when I see him if you’ll just tell me where he is!” 

“He’s sacrificing himself for your kingdom!” Gaius snapped angrily. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know of his magic?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what are your intentions?” 

“My intentions?” Arthur looked confused. “Gaius, whatever else I am, I am not my father. I mean no harm towards Merlin. I swear, I only want to talk to him. Please, where is he?” 

“I told you,” he said, then sighed heavily, looking older than his years. “Merlin found a spell of sorts,” he said. “In all the research we’ve been doing. It’s the only way to defeat the demon.” 

“But – that’s good isn’t it?” 

“You do not understand magic, Arthur. It’s not your fault. Your father would never allow me to instruct you in it. Would never allow anyone to even mention it in your presence. But it’s not as simple as you seem to think.” 

“So educate me now,” he said. “Quickly.” 

“It’s a powerful spell,” Gaius went on. “And it needs to be given to him by an ancient creature of magic. But it’s so powerful, Arthur, so terrible, that no man has ever done what Merlin is planning to do, and survived.” 

“Okay, that sounds bad.” 

“The spell might kill him before he even gets the chance to use it, and it’s a terrible death. He was afraid.” 

“Then why didn’t you stop him!” Arthur insisted, his fear rising in a wave and turning to anger as it found a focus. 

Gaius just fixed him with a look. “The events of tonight are your doing, not mine. You are the king now. Take responsibility for your actions.” 

Arthur sighed tiredly. His mind hurt, and his heart hung heavy in his chest. This night was the stuff of nightmares, and whatever he did, nothing seemed to be making it better. “Gaius,” he said. “I’ve lost my father tonight. I don’t want to lose my best friend as well. Tell me where you think he might have gone.”


	14. Merlin's sacrifice

“Elyan!” Arthur called out from horseback, seeing the familiar face among the confusion in the courtyard. People were milling about, running, carrying things, children were crying, knights and guards were giving orders. Arthur was almost tempted to jump down, join in, and try and help. But he had other places to be that night. 

“Sire?” Elyan called back, pushing his way through the crowds to reach him. People jostled him on all sides. 

Arthur’s horse danced away to the right as his knight came forward, its ears pricked and its eyes wide, already startled by the noises and movement. Arthur pulled it back, patting its neck in an effort to calm the animal. 

“Have you seen Merlin?” he shouted. 

“No sire,” Elyan called back, looking up at Arthur with a strange expression. Arthur couldn’t figure it out at first, then realised that word had probably circulated about his father’s death. 

He was king, he suddenly remembered. And an orphan. 

He brushed it off quickly. All such things could wait. “He’s gone missing,” he explained. “And I’m going after him.” 

“Out there, sire?” Elyan looked disturbed at the thought. “The woods are full of Morgana’s men. Patrols are moving constantly. We’ve been lucky so far not to have encountered them with the groups of refugees. But we know they’re there. If they capture you, sire – if they take you prisoner…” 

“I’m not going to let them catch me,” he insisted. “I’m going to find Merlin and bring him back. But – if something should happen…” he said, then broke off. If something did happen then they were in trouble. There was no heir now to the throne. If he died… “If something happens,” he said. “Don’t come looking for me. I’ll make my own way back, no matter how long it takes.” 

“Yes sire,” Elyan nodded, clearly not happy, but following orders. 

Arthur inclined his head towards him in thanks, then turned his horse skilfully and kicked it away over the cobblestones and out under the arch into the land beyond. 

The fact that Elyan hadn’t seen Merlin was a good thing. With so much chaos, one person could easily slip away, but it wouldn’t have been so easy on horseback. Someone would surely have seen him. That meant he was most likely on foot, which meant that Arthur had the advantage. Hopefully he could catch up to him and stop him doing this ridiculous spell (whatever it was) and getting himself killed. Then he’d bring him back to Camelot, give him a good talking to, apologise somewhere along the line, and then they could all get some damned sleep! 

As he rode, he shook his head to clear it, the cold air fresh on his tired face. He couldn’t get the vision of his father’s terrified final expression out of his mind. Gods, he hoped he didn’t die like that: cold and alone, madness his only friend. He wanted to die old and content – in his bed preferably. He wanted to die having brought peace to his kingdom and reigned there for many years. It was his Camelot now, and he wanted it badly, wanted the kingdom he’d always dreamed of. And he wanted Gwen at his side. 

Cautiously, he willed his horse on through the forest, riding as fast as he dared, but conscious of the dangers the darkness brought, and the noise of hooves that could travel for many miles on cold nights like this. He was heading for a clearing that Gaius knew, a large clearing in the wood. The old man hadn’t known for sure, but he’d guessed that it was where Merlin would most likely have gone. 

Arthur rode between trees and bushes, gazing all around constantly, ears alert to danger, nerves stretched. It was much less than a league that he was travelling, but after only a short time, he felt ready to snap. Every roving animal was a potential enemy that night, every shadow a soldier waiting to leap out and kill him. 

It was hard to tell exactly where he was in the dark, but he was thinking that he must be close to the clearing when suddenly, all the air around him seemed to rush forward, as though a great wind had filled the forest. The trees whipped backwards and forwards, leaves picking up from the ground and swirling around him. Dirt and dust scratched at his face, his horse reared. Then a light followed, like an explosion, or something bursting into flames, so bright it broke the darkness in two, splitting the night, making him wince with its brightness and throw an arm up to cover his eyes. 

It was only through sheer strength of will that he kept his seat on his panicking horse, and he struggled to bring the animal until control, figuring that losing it right now was really not going to improve his situation. He just wished it would be quiet. Its terrified whinnying seemed overly loud in his ears, and he imagined it bringing the enemy down upon him swiftly, and without mercy. 

But then over the top of the whinnying, came the sound of something else, something that put his teeth on edge: a high-pitched scream. Not an animal, he was sure of that. It was human. And it was coming from the direction of the light. 

Then all at once it went dark. The wind, the light, the screaming, all stopped, and the woods went back to normal.

Blowing out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, Arthur calmed his horse again, wondering what the hell had just happened. He feared the worst – it had been that kind of night – and a feeling of dread began to settle in his stomach. Then he noticed that although the bright light was gone, it seemed to have left a legacy behind. Ahead of him in the woods, he could see something like a small fire burning. He wondered if the trees had been set alight. Curious, he urged his horse forward again, feeling the animal’s resistance, and knowing the natural instinct of all living things was to run away from fire.

Suddenly, the trees around him moved again, not with the same force (though it did cause his poor horse to stumble backwards and then turn a complete circle as Arthur pulled on the reigns to correct it) but there was definite pressure in the air. And he couldn’t be sure, but it did sound very much like massive wings beating overhead. He looked up, but it was too dark to see much through the trees. The moon was out, shining brightly, but all he could see were moving shadows. 

He urged his horse forward again, determined now. And there ahead was the clearing, and the light at its centre, a light that seemed less bright now, fading even as his eyes adjusted to it. But it wasn’t a fire; he could see that now. The light was coming from something on the ground, something that his eyes were now able to make out as a person. 

Oh gods. 

Throwing himself from his horse, ignoring the pulling ache in his shoulder as he did so, Arthur wrapped the reigns roughly round a branch before rushing forward out from the trees and into the clearing, his eyes fixed on the figure on the ground. 

It was Merlin. 

Around where he lay, the grass was black and scorched, steam or smoke rising from it and filling his nostrils with an acrid stench. He ignored it, and skidded down onto his knees beside his servant, feeling the warmth permeate immediately through the cloth of his trousers from the heat of the ground. 

“Merlin?” 

He lay, his eyes shut, and his skin glowing with an unnatural light, like a star fallen to earth. He didn’t move, or flinch, or make any reaction to Arthur’s presence at all. In his right hand, held by numb fingers, there lay a stone about the size of a man’s fist. The stone was black.

Arthur didn’t have a clue what to do. Magic was outside the realms of the every day for him, and he’d never seen anything else like this before in his life. Gaius had described the spell as being powerful, but he hadn’t said anything about Merlin glowing. Then again, at least he appeared to be alive, and for that he was thankful. The way Gaius had been talking, he’d been fearing the worst, and whatever this was, it surely wasn’t the worst. 

Even as he watched, the glowing lessened even further, but he was extremely disturbed to suddenly see what looked rather like smoke coming from his servant’s mouth – might have been steam – but whatever it was, it was disconcerting. On instinct, he put his hand to Merlin’s cheek to see if he could slap him gently awake. But he drew back instantly with a hiss. His skin was scorching hot, hotter than the heat of any fever. It was surely a non-survivable heat, and yet here he was, living and breathing – okay he had smoke coming out of his mouth – but it passed for breathing. 

Fearfully, Arthur looked around. If the light and the noise had brought him here, surely it might bring Morgana’s men as well. They were vulnerable, just the two of them, and one too hot to even touch. But he couldn’t just leave Merlin. He would have to sit and wait this out, hoping beyond hope that Merlin would recover before any attack came, or at least that he would cool down enough for Arthur to chuck him over his horse and take him back to the castle. 

So he sat, listening to all the night noises, waiting for the sounds of twigs snapping underfoot, or rustling in the undergrowth that would signal the arrival of enemy troops. And all the time he watched and waited, while slowly, agonisingly slowly, the light emanating from his friend faded and faded, until it was all but gone, and the glow from the half full moon was all that illuminated them.

Merlin made a small noise and began to move. 

“Merlin?” Arthur reached down tentatively to take his hand, relieved to find his skin still hot, but now not unbearably so. 

His servant breathed out, wisps of smoke still visible in the cold night air. Then he opened his eyes, and Arthur flinched. His eyes were glowing the same colour that had now faded from the rest of him. 

“Arthur?” his voice sounded dry. 

“Yes.” 

“Where are we?” 

“Some clearing in the woods,” the king said, feeling sweet relief flood through him at hearing him talk. “You’ve been trying to do some ridiculous heroics that seem to have set everything on fire.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin. We just need to get you out of here.” 

Merlin’s face crinkled in confusion, and slowly he shut his eyes then opened them again. “There was a moon,” he said cryptically. 

“What are you talking about?” Arthur wondered. In his head he was already moving on to the retrieval stage of this operation, and wondering whether it was best to take Merlin to the horse, or bring the horse to Merlin. The damn beast was so jittery, the former option was probably preferable. 

“The sky was bright,” he heard Merlin say and watched him licking his cracked lips. “It’s dark now.” 

Arthur was confused. “No, the moon’s still bright,” he corrected brusquely. 

“Oh,” Merlin said simply.

Arthur froze, realisation hitting him hard. “You can’t see?” 

Slowly Merlin shook his head. 

***

Merlin had done what no one had managed to do before. But only just. 

The dragon’s fire had been about him, inside him, burning him away from his very core. He had felt himself dying, the fight to stay alive shredding his soul and threatening to consume him in darkness with every painful, smouldering breath. The dragon’s magic had invaded his body, searching out every bit of him, enveloping him, smothering him. He lost himself somewhere, willingly surrendering rather than enduring the screaming sensations that brought eternity into his veins in a crashing stream of overwhelming pain. 

Then something had dragged him back from the edge, some will to live had pushed him gasping and flailing like a newborn towards the light, a light that was so bright it was unbearable. 

Ironic then, that when he opened his eyes, all he could see was the spiralling blackness. 

“The moon’s still bright,” he could hear Arthur say. 

“Oh.” His own voice sounded distant to his ears. 

Arthur sounded sad with his next statement “You can’t see?” 

He shook his head. 

Well, that hurt.

“No.” 

“Your eyes are…” 

“What?” 

“Well, they’re… glowing.” 

“Glowing?” 

“Yeah, you were all like that a moment ago, glowing. It surrounded you when I first got here. Now it’s just in your eyes.” 

Arthur now sounded slightly scared. “Oh,” Merlin said again, then suddenly found it all rather funny. 

“What?” Arthur was obviously trying to figure out why he was smiling. 

Merlin’s smile deepened slightly. “I just wish I could see your face,” he said. 

“Well,” now Arthur sounded uncomfortable. “Maybe Gaius will be able do something about it,” he suggested. “Do you think you can stand?”

Merlin shook his head again. That really hurt. 

He supposed he should be grateful he was alive at all. In fact, he was amazed he was alive at all. He was pretty sure he’d died somewhere during the process, certainly he remembered not being able to breathe for really quite a long time. Maybe he was undead now, like a wraith, or one of Morgause’s soldiers. 

“You really should try,” Arthur was insisting again. 

“Not just yet,” he said, blinking his eyes, finding the darkness miserably disorientating, like he was looking into a yawning abyss of nothing. Of course as soon as he thought that, a wave of vertigo swept through him, making his ears buzz and his mouth water. 

“Well, you can’t stay here all night,” Arthur seemed to be trying to take charge. 

Probably feeling guilty, Merlin thought. 

Good. 

“These woods are full of Morgana’s men,” Arthur went on. “And I’m pretty certain that all the glowing lights and magical nonsense that’s be going on around here will have acted rather like a beacon. So unless we want to be captured, we’re going to have to move.” 

Merlin just shook his head. He never wanted to move again. His fingers closed around something in his hand: the dragon stone. It felt warm to the touch, different somehow, duller. He wondered if the spell had destroyed it. 

“Let’s get you vaguely upright anyway.” 

Merlin felt hands on him, pulling. “No – Arthur,” he protested, but it was too late. The new king had levered him upwards off the safe sanctuary of the ground and the bliss of solidity that had come with it. Now sitting, Merlin felt the vertigo turn resolutely to nausea, and he tried to gulp in a few lungfuls of fresh air to calm his seething stomach. The abyss just seemed to lurch up and swallow him, over and over and over. 

That thought pretty much ended the battle to hold onto his dinner, and his dignity. Groaning, he rolled himself awkwardly over and onto his knees, ignoring Arthur, who was saying something vaguely unimportant in the background, and was horribly sick.

He felt terrible, worse than any illness he could remember, worse than being poisoned or cursed. He was shivering now too, so weak that even kneeling was a struggle. Whatever the dragon had done to him seemed to be really messing with his body. He sincerely hoped it was going to be temporary. He’d known there was going to be a cost, but if he’d realised he was going to feel like this, he might have been content to let Camelot fall and damn the consequences.

But as he knelt there letting the cool air soothe him, the nausea began to die down. He felt less dizzy, more in control. 

Then he felt strong hands take hold of him under his arms, and managed nothing more than a small surprised squeak of protest as Arthur pulled him up and dragged him a short distance away before easing him back to the ground. 

The grass here was cool and soothing, but that soon set him shivering worse than before, and he clutched his jacket about him. 

“Don’t suppose you brought a blanket with you?” he asked Arthur jokingly through chattering teeth. 

“No, but I do believe we have such things in the castle, along with food, a bed, medicines…” 

Merlin sighed softly. “Gaius will be angry with me.” 

Arthur snorted. “I think he’s more angry with me.” 

“He was pretty angry with you,” Merlin agreed, wholeheartedly. “He called you an arrogant prat.” 

Arthur frowned. “Actually, that sounds more like something you would say,” he pointed out. 

“I may be paraphrasing,” Merlin admitted, closing his eyes. 

“Come on,” Arthur said encouragingly. “You can’t lie there all night. I wasn’t joking about Morgana’s army. You can ride my horse.” 

“Trotting horses being of course well known for their ability to ease a queasy stomach,” Merlin groaned. But he did make an effort to move, and even tried to sit up now that he was feeling a bit better and knowing that being outside probably wasn’t going to help him recover in the long term. Arthur was there to help and pulled him to his feet, and they stood there for a moment while Merlin got his balance. Then Arthur put an arm round him and together they began to stagger in the direction of Arthur’s horse. 

“So,” Arthur attempted to make conversation, which Merlin found amusing for some reason. It was as if the royal couldn’t stand silence, no matter what the situation. “Gaius said you were getting some powerful spell, and that’s what all this was about?” 

“Power of the dragon,” Merlin told him. He felt Arthur stop. 

“What?” 

“The dragon invested me with his power,” he elaborated. “That’s what all the fire and burning was about.” 

“What dragon?” Arthur still hadn’t started moving again. He’d clearly forgotten their situation in favour of being confused and generally astounded. 

“The one I told you was dead, but actually isn’t,” Merlin said quickly. “I thought we were getting away from here before Morgana’s men found us?” 

Arthur made an annoyed sound and started moving again. But he kept talking. “Does this mean you’re now going to be able to save Camelot?” he asked frankly. 

“That’s the idea,” Merlin shot back with levity, wondering how the hell he was going to save anything without the ability to see or even stand upright without assistance.

Arthur was obviously wondering the same thing. “How?” 

“I’m not entirely clear on that part myself,” he admitted. 

“The dragon didn’t tell you?” 

He noticed how Arthur emphasised the word dragon. “No he was a bit angry at me and didn’t give me all the details.” 

“Angry?” 

“I forced him to do this,” he said. “He was worried it was going to kill me. Guess he was wrong.” 

Arthur stopped again. “So the dragon thought this would kill you,” he said. “And Gaius thought this would kill you. Why the hell did you go through with it? Just how stupid are you?” 

Merlin sighed angrily. Here he was feeling awful, and Arthur was giving him a hard time. “Because,” he muttered sulkily. 

“Because what?” 

“Because you were angry!” he shouted back, pulling away from Arthur, but finding the move disorientating and his legs lacking the strength to match his indignation. He felt Arthur’s arm holding him up again, and wished he could shake him off. “And because you don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t know what any of this is like. You don’t know the responsibility I have, or how much I’ve been through to get to this point. I had to do this Arthur. I’m the only one who’s able to save Camelot. Even if it kills me, even if you hate me. I’m the only one who can save you. I didn’t have a choice.” 

There was silence then, similar in feel to the one in Uther’s chambers when Arthur had yelled at him. Merlin realised suddenly that being blind meant you missed out on all the symbols people gave off through their expressions and their body language. He had no idea how Arthur was going to react to his outburst.

But Arthur barely reacted at all. He simply turned him and walked him forward again. When he spoke, his voice sounded measured and calm, but he was speaking almost as though Merlin was a stranger. “If you defeat this demon Camelot will be forever in your debt,” he said. “I assure you that none shall harm you. I’ll make sure things are different.”

Merlin heard the tone. He heard it and ignored it. “How about making magic legal?”

“Well, let’s not – take that – I mean one step at a time…” Arthur all but stuttered. 

Merlin found himself smiling just a little. Under all that bluster, it was still Arthur. And however angry he was at him, he was at least trying to help. 

They reached the horse, and Arthur lifted Merlin’s hands out so that he could hold onto the saddle. 

“Wait a moment.” 

“What?” Merlin wondered. The horse moved slightly, but fortunately stayed more or less still. He heard the sound of ripping. “Arthur, what on earth are you doing?” He felt something touch his face suddenly, and jumped in fright. “Arthur!” 

“Sorry,” the king apologised. “I’m just going to cover your eyes.” 

“Oh,” that explained the ripping noise, he must have been tearing a strip of cloth from his tunic. Great something else to mend. “Why?” He felt the cloth fall over his eyes, and took one hand off the saddle to hold it in place while Arthur tightened it behind his head. 

“Because,” Arthur grunted slightly, and then slapped him almost jovially on the back. “Camelot guards, and in fact most people, tend to become slightly distressed when they see an individual with glowing eyes. Or at least, I’d imagine they would. This way we don’t have to explain the whole dragon power thing to everyone we meet. We’ll just say you – had an accident or something. Hit your face on a branch in the dark.” 

“Well, that’s sounds like me,” Merlin admitted. 

“Okay,” Arthur said, moving around behind him. “Let’s get you up and get out of here before we really are discovered. I for one am needing my bed. And I wouldn’t say no to breakfast, either.”


	15. Talk of the dragon

“So, can you breathe fire?” 

“Gwaine!” 

Merlin couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Gwen slapping Gwaine somewhere, as the knight protested: “Hey, it’s a fair question!” 

“It’s a bit rude,” she hissed. 

“I don’t mind,” he said placidly. “And for the record, Gwaine, no I can’t. Or at least, I don’t think so. I haven’t actually tried – so technically, I might be able to.” 

“You should definitely try!” the knight exclaimed, excited. “But maybe somewhere outside, yeah? Where there aren’t flammable things… and I’m not sitting in front of you.” 

“Duly noted,” he said, still smiling. 

It was early afternoon now and they were all sitting at a table in Gaius’ chambers. Merlin had his hands around a cup of something, while Gwaine, Lancelot and Gwen sat beside him asking questions. 

Gaius was at his desk making balms and other medicines for the inevitable injuries in the days to come, and keeping half an eye on the proceedings. He’d been particularly attentive since Merlin and Arthur had stumbled back into his room the night before, and Merlin was silently grateful for it. 

They’d had a relatively incident-free journey back to Camelot from the clearing, Merlin stopping them only once when he’d sensed one of Morgana’s patrols nearby. He’d felt Arthur looking at him as he’d said it, wondering how on earth he knew there was a patrol since he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. Truth be told, he didn’t really understand it himself. But as the initial pain and shock and disorientation of what the dragon had done wore off, he had found himself more and more aware of just how substantial a transformation he’d gone through. He'd always had a power within him, magic since he was a child. But his abilities had always seemed no different from breathing, or laughing; a gentle ripple that ebbed and flowed and comforted with its presence. Now, what he could feel inside was something almost terrifying. It was wonderful and awful all in an instant, but there was certainly no way to put it into words. 

They’d avoided the patrol easily enough, and arrived back at Camelot to find it quiet. The remaining refugees had been told to get some rest; they would have to wait until the following night now to make their bid for Godwyn’s kingdom. Dawn was too close, and it was likely they would be discovered if they tried to make the journey in daylight. 

Arthur had led his horse into the courtyard, and Elyan met him there, relief clear on his face at seeing the King return unharmed. But Arthur had avoided his questions, vaguely repeating the story he’d invented earlier to explain Merlin’s state, and then leading him away from the courtyard. 

Gaius had been more demanding of answers, but was also so clearly delighted to see Merlin alive and more or less unscathed that they were both patient with him. Really now all Arthur and Merlin wanted was sleep, and after only a short period of prodding and examination coupled with questions like: “So you’re now friends again?” and “what did the dragon say?” Gaius seemed to sense this and had led Merlin to his bed, letting Arthur find his own way out. He’d told Merlin that he was proud of him as he helped him undress, then blew out the candle and left him alone. 

Surprisingly, perhaps, he’d fallen asleep almost instantly, and had slept soundly until the noon bell woke him – or maybe it had been the none-too-quiet talking outside his door. He’d allowed himself to come slowly back to wakefulness, opening his eyes finally, and remembering. He felt tears prickling, and suffered a moment of grief for the loss of his sight. But he blinked it all away quickly. There was no time for that. He’d chosen this. He had to accept the cost. 

Sitting up he reached out with his magic, looking for his clothes without seeing them, and dressing, taking a bit longer than normal, but managing it without breaking anything or making much of a mess. Then he crossed to the door, and opened it. 

All talking outside ceased instantly, and he was led down, sat at the table and given a meal. Gwen had been in the room, and she sat beside him making sympathetic noises, as he ate, clearly nervous at first about asking him questions. 

He’d been a bit self-conscious; after all, they’d barely talked since their shared experience with the dragon all that time ago. Now he was blind, and just getting used to a new seething power. It shifted things. 

“What does it feel like?” she had wondered. 

He chewed a mouthful of food and considered telling her about the ringing in his ears, the dull ache behind his left eye, the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest fit to burst. Even the food tasted different: it was too cold and every iota of flavour screamed in his mouth. 

“It feels odd,” he answered eventually. “It’s… it feels different.”

She seemed to sense his discomfort and he felt a hand placed over his. “I’m sorry,” she said very quietly so that Gaius would not hear. “I’m sorry I’ve been so strange these last months.” 

He tried to smile. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a lot for you to take in.”

“I should have tried harder,” she said. “You’re my friend, one my closest. Nothing should change that.”

“Well, I have you to thank for changing Arthur’s mind about me anyway,” he said.

Was that a guess or did he actually know? He wasn’t sure. Gwen hadn’t talked about her conversation with the king the night before. Merlin just felt like… he could almost imagine he’d seen it. That he’d been there. 

She felt her hand squeeze his. “He didn’t take much persuading,” she whispered. 

Gwaine slamming open the door pretty much broke the moment. 

“Dragons and night time adventures, and no one tells me!” he exclaimed, marching in and putting his hands on his hips. 

Merlin sat back, smiling genuinely at the voice of his friend. 

“And you,” Gwaine said, coming up to him. “I thought I was supposed to be watching your back. How the hell am I supposed to do that if you go disappearing off? What happened anyway?” 

And so Merlin had to tell his story all over again, as he had done already for Gaius and for Gwen, or at least, the edited highlights. He then had to start again from the beginning when Lancelot joined them about half way through. Then the three of them had started to ask a lot of questions: about the power he’d taken on, about the demon, about Morgana. 

“I think Arthur wanted to have her executed,” Gwen said quietly. “But he seems to have changed his mind this morning. I don’t know what he’s going to do now.” 

“What do you think he should do, Merlin?” Lancelot had wondered. 

Because I’m now the font of all magical knowledge, he thought to himself, sighing inwardly, but he just shook his head. “Killing her now won’t change anything,” he said. “She’s already put things into play that are so deeply wrong, they’ve thrown the whole world out of balance. Killing her would just be an act of revenge, and whatever Arthur is, I don’t believe he’s vengeful.” 

“But she’s a danger,” Gwaine insisted. “That kind of hatred, I’ve seen it before. You’d be amazed how many times family members end up being each other’s worst enemies. It’s something about being able to hurt the most the ones closest to you. Arthur should kill her while he has the chance.” 

“Arthur is going to do nothing of the kind,” the king announced. They turned. He was standing in the doorway pulling off his gloves, looking tired and drawn. 

Those at the table, barring Merlin (who felt it might have unfortunate consequences involving knocking things over), stumbled to their feet. Arthur just waved them back down again in slight frustration. This new king thing was going to take a bit of getting used to. He was after all, someone who didn’t particularly like standing on ceremony. 

He strode over to Gaius. “I was wondering if you had anything I could take for my shoulder?” he asked him quietly. “It’s proving bothersome today.” 

“Of course sire,” Gaius wondered over to his stack of bottles and began to rifle through them. 

Arthur came to the table. “Morgana won’t be dying by my hand,” he continued his earlier train of thought. “Not today anyway.” 

“What’s happened?” Merlin wondered. Something was wrong. 

Arthur looked directly at him, and a shadow of sorrow passed over his face. But it faded quickly. “A scout has returned from the refugee parties en route to Godwyn’s Kingdom,” he said with a sigh. “The last group was attacked early this morning.” 

Gwen gasped and put a hand over her mouth 

“Were there many killed?” Lancelot asked.

Arthur shook his head. “Slaughtered. Pretty much to a man, though the scout thought a few stragglers may have escaped in the chaos. It’s possible a second group may have been attacked now as well, but it’s too early to tell.” 

“Morgana’s men?” Merlin asked. 

“Yes. The bulk of her army is now moving on Camelot, squeezing us in.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “There’s no way we can risk getting the remainder of the refugees out now. Anyone who’s still here is trapped here for the duration. Whatever comes out of that hole Merlin, I just hope you’ve got it in you to defeat it.” 

He could feel them all looking at him. He could feel their doubt. 

Uncomfortable, he put his hand on the table, feeling for his spoon, then picked it up and began to toy with the food left in his bowl. 

“Why don’t we attack them?” Gwaine asked, distracting Arthur’s attention. 

Arthur shook his head again. “We’ve barely enough men left now to defend the citadel. An all out assault would be pointless on our part.” 

“What about questioning Morgana?” Gwen piped up. “Maybe she can stop this.” 

“I’ve tried,” Arthur said. “I spoke to her this morning. She’s like a rock, fixed in her hatred. She will do nothing to help us.” 

“She can’t,” Merlin muttered. “She doesn’t have the power to stop the demon even if she wanted to.” 

“Do you think they’ll attempt to rescue her?” Gaius wondered, coming over and handing Arthur a small glass bottle, which he took gratefully.

“It’s possible,” he said with a smile. “Though if they do, I’m pretty sure they’ll wait until darkness. I’ll triple the guard on the prison tonight.”

Suddenly, there was a small clattering sound as Merlin dropped the spoon he was holding. They all turned to look at him, as he shut his eyes, grimacing. Gaius too gave a gasp, and wobbled slightly, his hand going to the table to steady himself. Arthur took hold of his elbow, instinctively. Then the tremor hit, louder than the others so far, and longer. They all looked up in fear as the room shook, glass bottles clinking against each other on shelves. A broom fell over in the corner, then one or two of the bottles smashed to the floor. It only lasted a few seconds, and then it all went silent. 

They looked at each other, all breathing hard in fear. 

Merlin opened his glowing eyes. “It’s getting closer,” he said. 

***

Trapped in the citadel, the remaining citizens of Camelot spent the rest of the day preparing as best they could for what many considered would be the end. Uther Pendragon lay in state in one of the smaller halls, a cold room even in the summer heat. His burial would wait and would depend on the outcome of the morrow. After all, the dead could not tend the dead. 

Gwen spent as much of that hot and portentous afternoon with Arthur as she could. She had duties to attend to in the makeshift hospital they had created, and he had duties commanding his men to defend the citadel and organise the remaining refugees. But when they were able, they stole away together, minutes passing like seconds as they clung to each other, desperate that this day should not be their last. 

The knights stayed busy, despising duty on the defensible walls where their only task would be to stare at the hazy horizon, hot and dreamy in the afternoon sun. Arthur had met with them all in council in the early evening, telling them that they had a potential solution to the curse they were undergoing, a new weapon that they hoped could destroy the demon. There had been mutterings of joy and relief among the knights, only two staying silent as Arthur purposefully neglected to name the weapon or go into any detail about the hopeful source of their salvation. Arthur caught Gwaine’s eye and looked away. He wasn’t sure if he was protecting Merlin now, or if he was still denying his magic, denying that it was only through this mystical and banned power that they would all be saved. He’d ordered the guard tripled for that night, told the rest to get some sleep if they could, and left to seek out the arms of his love. 

Merlin for his part stayed with Gaius, the two of them finally having the opportunity to talk in length about what had happened now that they were left alone. Merlin described in detail his encounter with the dragon: how the beast had been reluctant to carry out the task, how their wills had battled, how the dragon had warned he would be left drained by the procedure and would need to leave immediately to recover his strength. He talked briefly about the fire surrounding him, burning him without touching him, the swell of something terrible within, the feeling of the world closing in, and then waking to Arthur. He explained as best he could the abilities that were in him now, the things he could sense, the power running through his veins. But he couldn’t even begin to touch on it in language that Gaius could understand. 

“Do you think it is enough to defeat the demon?” Gaius had wondered, placing his old hands over Merlin’s. 

The boy shook his head. “I won’t know until I do it,” he said evenly. “But it has to be Gaius. I can’t let it end like this.” 

Arthur had insisted on a guard for outside Gaius’ chambers, so as the afternoon wore on, the physician felt safe enough leaving his nephew to his own devices. Like Gwen, he had duties to attend to at the hospital. They had about 40 patients there now, all bed-ridden and in need of care. Lancelot had said he would stop in after Arthur’s council meeting, and he himself would be home around nightfall. Merlin had assured him he would be fine. He had the power of dragons after all. And who would dare to rise up against that? 

As it was, it was after dark before Gaius finished with his last patient, who had slipped away with only Gaius to hold her hand. She was a young girl, a teenager probably, with no family and no friends around her. She’d been too badly injured, and he’d known from when he first saw her that her chances were slim. But like all doctors, he had hope ingrained in his soul, hope that died just a little bit with the death of each patient. 

When she died, he’d gazed sadly at her meagre possessions: a small bag and a dark green cloak was all she had in the world. For some reason, he didn’t want those things being taken when the girl went for burial. He didn’t want other people going through them with no connection to the person they had belonged to. He wanted them treated with respect, as he had treated her with respect. And so he’d gathered the items into his arms and taken them with him. 

He felt heavy as he returned to his quarters, worried about his remaining patients left with just a few servants to tend them. He felt old and tired; tired of seeing the young die, tired of seeing them suffer. With Uther’s death, he felt the kingdom should be moving into a new age, but here they were instead, stalled, and waiting for the end. All their hopes resting on the shoulders of one person. 

Coming up to the corridor at his door he nodded to the two guards standing outside, so tired that he almost missed the fact that neither of them nodded back. He paused. 

“Quiet evening?” he asked one of them. 

The guard didn’t answer, staring straight ahead. Now, either he was completely devoted to his duty and allowed no distractions, or something wasn’t quite right. 

Gaius raised his hand in front of the guard’s face. No reaction. Glancing around to make sure they were alone, he raised his hand again, and muttered the word: áwæce, his eyes glowing briefly in the dark corridor. 

The guard blinked and looked around instantly, flinching when he saw Gaius standing so close in front of him. 

“How did you get there?” he wondered. 

Gaius felt a stab of fear in his chest. “What’s the last thing you remember?” he demanded quickly. 

“What do you mean?” the guard look confused. 

“The last thing you remember!” he repeated, trying to keep his voice down. “What’s the last thing you heard or saw?” 

The guard blinked and looked confused. “The last thing… I remember,” he started. “Was the guard – yes the bell ringing for the changing of the guard. It was just now, a few moments ago.” 

Gaius’ face tightened. It had been the guard bell that had prompted him to leave the hospital, but it had been more than just a few moments ago. 

“Go and fetch the king,” he said earnestly. “And find Sir Gwaine as well if you can. Bring them here immediately.” 

“But Gaius,” the guard protested. “We’re not supposed to leave our post unguarded.” 

“Your post has been unguarded!” Gauis hissed back. “You were enchanted. Now go and fetch Arthur!”

The guard looked at him with wide eyes before fleeing down the corridor with all speed. Gaius turned to the second guard and spoke the same word to break the spell holding him, quickly waving away his questions and confusion with a flick of his hand. 

“For your own safety, I need you to stay here and not enter the room unless I shout for you,” he said. “If I do, come quickly.”

Resolutely, he turned to the door, afraid of what he would find within, but more afraid to stay without. He pushed it open gently, but it wouldn’t move easily. Something was blocking it. He pushed a bit more firmly, and eventually made a big enough gap to squeeze through, his eyes on the floor to try to ascertain what had been blocking the door. 

Lancelot was lying in a crumpled heap. Gaius crouched instantly beside him, as the door swung shut again, seeing the glint of wet blood on his hair. He was still breathing, but out cold. He put a hand to his neck and was relieved to find a steady beat. 

Then he jumped, as a cry rang out, and his head whipped up in shock. He saw finally that the room beyond was in uproar, table over-turned, chairs tumbled aside, some broken. The floor was littered with glass from broken bottles, scorch marks stained the walls. But his gaze was drawn quickly past all that.

Near the back of the room, Alvarr was pressed against the wall, fixed as though held by an invisible hand, arms stretched out to the side, and ripples of blue energy passing almost invisibly up and down them. He looked pained, and it was clearly him who had cried out. Opposite him stood Merlin, one hand outstretched, but he didn’t appear to be expending much effort keeping Alvarr where he was. 

Gaius got slowly back to his feet and as he did so, Merlin’s head flicked round and he looked at his uncle with unseeing eyes. His face was unforgiving, dark, and angry, and there was something there that Gaius had never seen before: hate.


	16. Arthur's problem

Arthur and Gwaine were running. 

Arthur hadn’t been to start with, but then to be fair, it had taken a few corridors for his sleep-addled brain to make sense of the garbled message he’d been given by the guard (before the man had scampered off to find Gwaine). It had been something about being enchanted outside Gaius’ chambers, and the command from the physician himself to come to the room as soon as he could. 

Well, Arthur had at first taken that to mean that Merlin had done something magicky. He was, after all, the only sorcerer the King knew of in Camelot. But why would Merlin be enchanting the very guards put outside his door to protect him? It didn’t make sense. And why would Gaius need him to come and do something about it? 

His brain started to send him cautious warning signals, and his initial walk picked up in speed. 

What if Merlin hadn’t been the one doing the enchanting? Morgana had broken into the castle with relative ease, had made it to his father’s chambers uncontested, had stabbed his father in the heart without even one guard making the attempt to stop her. She might now be in their dungeons, but she could have escaped, and even if she hadn't, it wasn’t like she was the only sorcerer out there intent on bringing evil to the kingdom. 

Arthur began to trot. 

Merlin was Camelot’s weapon, by all accounts their only hope now in destroying the demon. If somebody killed him first, they were lost. And Arthur had left him with only two guards to protect him. 

Arthur began to run. 

Sprinting round a corner, he practically collided with Gwaine coming the other way. 

“Merlin’s in trouble!” the knight exclaimed. 

“I know!” Arthur protested. 

They ran. 

It didn’t take them long to reach Gaius’ chambers, and they found the remaining guard standing outside looking anxious and twitchy. 

“What’s happening?” Arthur demanded without preamble. 

“Sire,” he bowed. “Gaius told me to wait outside unless called. He said it was for my own safety.” 

“And he hasn’t called?” the man shook his head. “Have you heard anything at all from inside the room?” 

The man looked uncomfortable. “Strange noises sire – and someone crying out – in pain I thought.” 

“And you didn’t go in to help?” Gwaine demanded, angry at the man’s apparent cowardice. 

“I was ordered not to,” he protested feebly 

“It’s alright,” Arthur said, drawing his sword. “Go and fetch me a contingent of knights and have them come here as soon as they can.” He glanced at Gwaine, who also drew his sword. Then he pushed his way cautiously into the room. 

He was at once struck by the tableaux of Gaius standing just inches behind his nephew, who in turn was standing with one arm outstretched in the direction of a man Arthur recognised with instant disgust. 

Alvarr's face was a mass of pain and fear. All the arrogance and surety had gone. He was laid bare as the coward he was underneath his magic and his powers. He seemed to be pleading for his life, his back finally against the wall. 

Arthur advanced forward as Merlin spoke in a voice so low that the King could not at first hear. Gwaine ducked down to check on Lancelot, still lying near the doorway. His face was creasing in pain as he started to come round. 

“It doesn’t need to be this way,” Alvarr shouted at Merlin, responding to whatever it was he’d said. “I’ll take it back. Whatever we did, I’ll take it back!” 

“Take it back?” Merlin responded slightly louder. He seemed oblivious to Arthur’s presence, his energy and attention fixed on Alvarr. “You can’t take this back! You mess with the very fabric of time, rip a beast from the darkest pits of existence, and you think you can take it back?” 

“Then I’ll help you!” Alvarr said quickly. “I’ll help you defeat it. And afterwards you can take your rightful place, Merlin, as ruler of this kingdom.” 

Arthur swallowed uncomfortably.

“You have the power of gods now,” Alvarr went on. “There is not one who would not bend his knee to you. Let me help you. I will kill Arthur, and his throne shall be yours. Your hands would be clean, you’d have no part in…” he broke off with a scream of pain, his head arching backwards as Merlin took a step forward towards him and made a gesture with his hand. 

“You – do not speak to me of Arthur!” Merlin was clearly furious. His hand began to shake slightly. 

Arthur felt Gwaine at his shoulder, but he didn’t turn. His gaze was fixed in horror on his gentle friend advancing on the man he had in thrall. 

“You do not speak of power!” Merlin went on, emotion straining his voice. “You know nothing else. You are why people hate magic, Alvarr. You use it only for your own purposes. You know nothing of loyalty, or good deeds just for the sake of what they are. You know only fear. Only revenge.” He went closer still, his voice dropping to a hush, his face inches from his enemy’s. “I pity you.” 

Alvarr was shaking. “We are brothers!” he pleaded desperately. 

Merlin shook his head. “We are nothing to each other,” he assured him. “I should kill you for what you did to me, for what you’ve done to this kingdom!” He raised both his hands. 

“Merlin!” Arthur said arrestingly. “Don’t.” 

There was a terrible silence in the room. Merlin drew back slightly, and turned his head, sightless eyes fixing on Arthur with unnerving accuracy. He seemed to be making an internal decision. 

Then he took two steps backwards, reached out his hand to Alvarr and made a grasping motion with his hand. 

The sorcerer screamed again as he was drawn slightly forwards off the wall, and something seemed to come out of him, an energy that wavered across the room to Merlin’s outstretched hand. It lasted only a few seconds then he slumped to the ground not moving. 

Arthur looked horrified as Merlin staggered backwards, breathing hard but otherwise seemingly none the worse for wear. Gaius stepped forward and crouched down to check on Alvarr. Gwaine rushed over to Merlin, who flinched slightly at his touch. 

“Is he dead?” Arthur wondered, not sure he really wanted to know. 

“No,” Gaius said, sounding surprised, and getting back to his feet. They all turned to look at Merlin. 

“What did you do to him?” Arthur demanded. 

Again, Merlin’s face locked on his, and he raised his chin slightly as though expecting a rebuke and staving it off. “I took his magic,” he said firmly, though his lip shook slightly. “You can lock him away now, he’s no risk to any.” 

At that moment, the room began to fill with knights, all with their swords drawn and looking for a fight. Merlin quickly shut his eyes and turned his face away, as the knights looked around in consternation. Lancelot too was getting unsteadily to his feet, and one of the knights put an arm round his shoulders to support him. 

“Take him away,” Arthur commanded, pointing to the unconscious sorcerer, but all the while keeping his gaze on Merlin. 

The room was awash with motion, as knights came over to take Alvarr, Lancelot was brought forward, tables and chairs were turned back over, and general clearing began. But still Arthur stood there, looking at Merlin, and Merlin stood and let him look. Gwaine stood and wondered what the hell was going on between them, rather awkward about what he should do next. 

Arthur saw Alvarr being manhandled from the room out of the corner of his eye, and with that, he nodded uncomfortably to Merlin and Gwaine, and turned to go without another word. 

Gwaine felt Merlin slump a little and turned round, looking for a chair. He saw the bench at the table had been righted, and steered his friend back to it, sitting him down. Nearby, Gaius was beginning to treat Lancelot’s head wound. 

“Back in a mo,” he said to Merlin, then dashed after the King. 

He caught up with him outside in the corridor. 

“Arthur!” 

The blonde turned, expectant, as Gwaine came trotting up to him. 

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. 

“What?” 

“That in there?” the knight gestured towards the room. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Your friend,” Gwaine said, putting a lot of emphasis on friend. “Was just attacked and could have been killed. You don’t even ask how he is or stay to check he’s alright? You don’t say anything in fact, you just run out?” 

“What exactly would you like me to say?” Arthur demanded. “After all, it’s pretty clear he can take care of himself now.” 

Realisation flooded Gwaine’s face, and he lifted his head, opening his mouth in understanding. “Oh, so that’s it!” 

“What’s it?” 

“You’re afraid of him.” 

Arthur was incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous!” 

But Gwaine was undeterred. “Your little helpless servant got himself some powers, and you can’t handle it. You liked him helpless – liked someone you could pick on, is that it? But he can stand up for himself now, and it’s freaking you out?”

“Gwaine, stop it,” Arthur said, his tone making it clear that Gwaine was hitting close to the bone. 

“And all that stuff Alvarr said about Merlin taking over, about killing you – you’re taking that seriously aren’t you, you actually think it might happen!” 

“I don’t have time for this,” Arthur said, turning away, but Gwaine grabbed him back, unbothered by the impropriety of what he was doing. 

Arthur glared at him, but Gwaine didn’t flinch. 

“You need to make a choice, Arthur,” he said. “Either Merlin is loyal to Camelot or he isn’t, either you trust him, or you don’t. From what I saw in there, you’ve nothing to worry about. But then, I guess it depends how insecure you are.” Finally he backed off, walking backwards a couple of steps. “Funny,” he said. “I always thought more of you.” And he turned and walked away, back towards Gaius’ chambers. 

Arthur watched him go, and said nothing. 

***

That night became the stuff of legends, the night a young boy stole into Camelot, walked through the courtyard right under the noses of guards and knights, and broke into the prison. By the time anyone realised what was happening, Alvarr was already dead; killed just as his mother said he would be, at the hands of a sorcerer. The same sorcerer who then released Morgana, the two of them slipping away into the darkness and into history, hand in hand. 

“I doubt that’s the last we’ll see of her,” Lancelot commented after Gaius had told them the story. 

The knight had been commanded to remain in the physician’s quarters for at least the night after his encounter with Alvarr – and his subsequent encounter with a wall and the floor. He was now sitting having breakfast with Merlin and Guinevere.

“Mm,” Merlin agreed, but said nothing else. He’d said very little in fact since the previous night, only muttering a few words of explanation to Gwaine and Gaius about what had actually happened and how he and Alvarr had battled. 

Gwaine, on the other hand, had been extremely vocal, mostly about Arthur, and mostly uncomplimentary. Merlin hadn’t disagreed, but he also hadn’t joined in.

Now, he was just ill at ease, and although his companions could sense it, they could have no idea that they were the cause. They didn’t know that even though he couldn’t see them, he knew they were stealing glances at each other; that Gwen’s fingers had found Lancelot’s on the table, wrapping round them tenderly, her concern for his well-being evident. 

But she didn’t stay long, and when she made to leave, Merlin asked her deliberately if she could tell Arthur he wanted to see him. 

She’d agreed without hesitation, but Arthur hadn’t come. And when Lancelot left an hour or so later carrying the same message, still no Arthur appeared. 

Then again, Merlin thought, distracting himself from thoughts of fickle lovers, he was probably busy. Everyone was busy. 

Around a thousand people remained in the citadel, trapped by the continuing presence of Morgana’s army, and including scared civilians who needed to be housed and reassured. The knights were working to set up barricades in the courtyard as near to the now smoking hole as they dared go. Gaius, had hurried away before even Guinevere had left, to tend to the wounded. Only Merlin was left inactive, sitting alone in the dark and pondering. 

It was hard to think now. His head was pounding as if with an approaching storm. Every time he would try to imagine a way to defeat the demon, he would lose himself in a cloud of confusion, and end up having to pace around trying to shake it off. 

The castle too was suffering, as shockwave after shockwave vibrated the ancient structure to its very core. After one particularly intense shaking – during which Merlin had heard several louder than normal crashes, followed by some truly pitiful screams – he’d placed a hand absent-mindedly on the wall, and cast a spell to keep the stones of the whole castle in place whatever tremors they had to endure. 

But his main concern was what was going to happen when the cause of all this chaos appeared in the courtyard, and all that would stand between it, Camelot and certain destruction was – well – him. 

He couldn’t do this alone. He needed Arthur. And he was annoyed with Arthur. It was just typical of him to show so much disregard, even when here he was laying his life on the line for the whole kingdom. Surely that was enough to counterbalance the little fact that he had magic and had been using it illegally in Camelot for years? 

Then he thought of the previous night. 

The encounter with Alvarr had been awful. The fight had been violent, and even he had been slightly surprised at his own abilities and the ease with which he had overpowered his enemy. Anger he supposed, and revenge had unleashed something within him, making him stronger. But while it had also made him briefly cruel, he’d reigned that back in. That had been Arthur’s influence. 

But now he wouldn’t even come to talk when Merlin asked him to. 

He knew that he’d freaked Arthur out. The king, who was still coming to terms with his own loss and his own ascension, was now being asked to accept a friend who’d been hiding in plain sight for years, who wasn’t as weak as he’d made out. Merlin wondered what he would do if their positions were reversed, if, for example, Arthur suddenly turned out to be a peasant masquerading as a king, or really a woman. 

Merlin smiled at the thought. 

But the smile faded. He honestly couldn’t think of a situation where Arthur could tell him something that would fundamentally change the basis of their relationship. Whatever Arthur did or said, he was still his friend, and he would stand by him. And if it had been something that Arthur had no control over, which came from a place of good heart and good conscience, then what was there to think about? 

Arthur was just being a prat. And it was time Merlin stopped sitting in the dark and told him so. 

Cautiously, he stood up and made his way to the door, avoiding benches and tables easily. Arthur had upped the guard outside, he knew that, though he wasn’t sure by how much. And it was all pretty pointless anyway. If a sorcerer really wanted to attack him, two guards or twenty, it wasn’t really going to make much difference. 

Before opening the door, he cast a spell that would throw off the attention of others to not only his physical presence, but to any actions he took as well. So when the door silently opened, and then shut again with no one seeming to pass through, the ten guards didn’t move a hair. They didn’t see him as he walked cautiously between them, reaching out with his magic to make sure he didn’t comically walk into one of them (because he was fairly certain that having someone smack into you was probably enough to make you aware of their existence, cloaking spell or no cloaking spell.) 

Then he found a wall, and traced it with his fingers as he walked along, keeping his eyes shut, and concentrating for any thoughts or feelings or words as to where Arthur might be. Oddly, there was nothing. Two knights were discussing the king in the courtyard below, but they too were wondering where he was, and one of them was saying that Arthur hadn’t been seen all morning. 

Merlin’s brow furrowed at that. Where was he hiding? Had Mordred and Morgana stolen him away? No, surely he would have sensed the threat. And they would have crowed about it too, loud and clear. 

Well, he would just have to go to Arthur’s room and wait for him there. 

And so he did, taking off the spell after he’d made sure there was no one else there, and sitting, arms folded, wishing he’d thought to eat before he’d undertaken this little quest. 

Time passes differently for those who do not see its passage, and the wait seemed to last years to the young warlock. Which meant, of course, that by the time the door opened, and Arthur strode in, some time later, he was in quite the mood.

The king was distracted, clearly, and didn’t even see Merlin sitting at his table until after he’d walked past, unbuckling his sword belt, and turned back to throw it on the bed. Then he stopped, and his eyes narrowed. 

“How did you get here?” he demanded curtly. 

Merlin swallowed down his bad humour. No point entering this argument with hostility in his heart. “Arthur I’ve spent half my life in Camelot in this room,” he said. “I always figured I could make it here blindfold,” he smiled, sadly. “Guess I was half right.” 

Arthur didn’t smile. He turned away. “What do you want?” 

“To talk to you,” Merlin said, his voice rising slightly. 

“About what?” 

Merlin laughed humourlessly. “About the Lammas celebrations,” he said sarcastically. “What do you think, Arthur? There’s a demon rising out of your courtyard. I may not be able to see what’s going on, but I can sure as hell sense it.” 

Arthur didn’t reply. Merlin wondered if he’d made him awkward by bringing up his blindness. 

“Look,” he said slightly softer. “I know what’s happened is going to take us both a bit of getting used to…” 

“What the fact that you’re blind – or the fact that you have magic?” Arthur wondered. “Because I kind of think you’ve had longer to get used to that one than I have.” 

Merlin’s mouth tightened. “Is that what’s bothering you?” 

“Nothing’s bothering me, Merlin, I’m fine.” 

“Really?” 

Arthur shot back. “If I say I’m fine, then I’m fine.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really!” 

“Then where have you been all morning? I’ve been asking for you and you haven’t come. No one out there seems to have seen you.” 

“And like it’s any of your business what I do or where I go in my own kingdom!” Arthur exclaimed. 

“Oh stop being such a prat for once in your life Arthur!” Merlin retorted. 

Arthur stiffened slightly. “That is no way to address me.” 

Merlin let out an exasperated breath: “It’s the way I’ve always addressed you.” 

“Thing’s are different now.” 

“Why?” 

“You might not have noticed, but I’m actually the king now!” 

“Really? And that changes what? Because a day ago I was given the power of a dragon. And that’s actual power, not just a word or a position that comes with a pointy hat and some shiny new clothes. And I could probably destroy the world if I wanted to, or create a new one, I’m not really sure because this is immense and incredible and terrible and overwhelming… But do you know what? I don’t really feel all that different. In fact, fundamentally, I don’t feel any different. I’m still the same Merlin I was the day before, and the week before that, and last year. I’m still me. I haven’t changed.” 

“Everything’s changed,” Arthur echoed sadly. 

“Only if you let it!” Merlin protested. He shook his head, sensing this particular argument wasn’t going anywhere. “Why haven’t you come to see me?” 

“I’ve been…!” Arthur stuttered. “Busy!” 

“Where?” 

“In the library,” the king blurted out. 

Surprise shut Merlin up – but only briefly. “The library?” he asked. “Doing what?” 

“Reading about you if you must know,” Arthur admitted defensively. “About this legend of Emrys and the once and future king.” 

“Oh,” he said more soberly. 

“Oh?” Arthur put his hands on his hips. “Is that all you’ve got to say? I break into the sealed section of the library to read prophetic books about you and me, and that’s all you can say? Are you not at least surprised?” 

“I really am,” Merlin said earnestly. “I didn’t know you could read.” 

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, indignant, but then he saw a rather impish grin spread itself across Merlin’s face, and he couldn’t help but smile himself. “Oh very funny,” he said. Then he sighed and turned away again. “This is hard for me, Merlin,” he admitted. 

“Then let me help you,” Merlin urged, taking a step forwards. 

“You can’t,” Arthur tried to explain, speaking softly. “Not this time.”

“Why?” 

“Because believe it or not, however idiotic you’ve been in all of this, and however much I want to smack you over the head for lying to me all these years, there’s actually someone in all of this who’s behaved worse.” 

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Who?” 

“Me” 

Merlin had no answer to that. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. 

Arthur, for his part, continued to wander to the other side of the room. “It was something Gwaine said believe it or not – something he said last night after the whole Alvarr thing.” Arthur turned back to his friend, seeing him stand there with his glowing eyes and his monumental power, looking confused. “I haven’t treated you very well through all these years.” 

“You’ve been alright,” Merlin protested. 

Now it was Arthur’s turn to say: “Really?” 

“Well,” Merlin seemed to consider. “You could have been… better.”

“I’ve been awful,” Arthur corrected. “I’ve bullied you, I’ve pushed you around, I’ve used you, put you in danger, thrown goodness knows how many goblets at your head. And all that time you could have killed me with your little finger.” 

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, but you know I wouldn’t have,” he protested. 

“And that’s just it!” Arthur exclaimed. “All these years you’ve demonstrated immense self-control in the face of unbelievable provocation. If I’d been you I would have blown me up ages ago.” 

“I was tempted once or twice,” Merlin admitted with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said truthfully, coming forwards. “I shouldn’t have treated you like that – even if you didn’t have the power to – eviscerate me. That’s what Gwaine made me think about. I was standing there last night looking at you take rightful revenge against Alvarr – and I was afraid of you. I was afraid of what you might do to me.” 

Merlin took another step towards him. “Arthur…” he began, but the King cut him off. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said again. “No matter who you are and what you can do. You don’t treat another person the way I treated you. I feel pretty bad about it to be honest.” 

Merlin’s smile widened. “Arthur,” he said. “Humility is a gift. It hurts – but it’s a gift. Embrace it.” 

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “And I don’t know how to deal with all this.” he waved his hand at the warlock. “How can I just accept you like this? How can I just think of it as normal suddenly when my whole life has been ordered around hating magic? How could my father have been so wrong?” 

“Arthur,” Merlin said again. “I wish – I really, really wish that we had time to re-build our friendship, and for you to get to trust me again. I do understand how odd it must be – I really do.” He pointed in a random direction. “But that thing will be here before the sun sets tonight, and I can’t defeat it on my own. I need you to accept this and move on. I need you to see me as your ally, not your enemy. Because fundamentally, I need your help.” 

Arthur was confused. “What can I do?” 

“You read those books didn’t you?” 

“Not exactly all of them.” 

“Big picture then,” Merlin suggested with a smile. “What did they say about the two of us?” 

“Lots of things, lots of things that we do together, and have done together. Apparently you brought me back from the gates of Avalon?” 

“Well it was more like a lake,” Merlin protested. 

“And you’ve been keeping Morgana from killing me for quite some time now?” 

“I have.” 

“And what’s this thing about you making me a magical sword?” 

“Oh I did that, burnished in the dragon’s breath and everything. It’s just – you can’t have it yet.” 

“Why?” Arthur demanded slowly. 

“It’s – sort of in the forest in a really big stone.” 

“In a stone?” 

“I put it there for safe keeping. It’s too powerful to fall into the wrong hands, and it’s not like I could tell you before. How on earth would I explain it?” 

“Okay,” Arthur seemed to accept that. “But why can’t I have it now?” 

“I told you,” Merlin looked a little embarrassed. “It’s in the forest, and there’s this – army between us and it.” 

“And wouldn’t a magical sword have been quite useful when it comes to fighting a demon?” 

“Oh I don’t think so,” Merlin said breezily. “It kills things that are dead, and I’m pretty sure this demon’s alive.” 

“So it wouldn’t be helpful at all?” 

“Well let’s just say it won’t be – because we can’t get it now anyway,” he said quickly. “But getting back to you and me and the legend and all that – we do stuff together Arthur, that’s what we’ve always done. And I don’t know what we do about this demon, but I do know we have to do it together. And for that to work, you need to trust me.” 

“I do trust you,” Arthur said automatically. 

“No you don’t,” Merlin retorted. “Have you even told anyone that I have magic?” 

“I told Gwen.” 

“Gwen’s known for months!” he snapped. 

“Well I haven’t had the chance to tell anyone else. And it’s – difficult.” 

“No it’s not,” Merlin said shaking his head. “You need to admit what I am, get this out in the open, and then we can spend the rest of the day talking about this, finding a solution, coming up with a plan. Because I can tell you, pointing me in the direction of that thing and hoping that I’ll just, magically do something to stop it, probably isn’t going to work.” 

Arthur said something back to him, but suddenly, Merlin couldn’t hear him. 

His head filled with a rushing sound that drowned everything out, and sucked him down, and drowned him robbing him of breath. He heard a voice screaming in his ear, the words clear and terrifying. He knew what it was, but he couldn’t breathe, and panic set in, and he scrambled to get away, feeling his back contact with something hard and sharp as the rushing sound finally started to fade. 

“Merlin!” 

Hands were on his arms.

“Merlin!” 

“Arthur?” he gasped out, breathing hard. He tried to get his bearings. He appeared to be sitting on the floor. 

Oh great. 

“Are you alright?” The King sounded genuinely concerned. 

“Fine.” he lied. He could feel cold hard stone under his hands, tiny fragments of dirt snagging his fingertips as he moved. Arthur’s floor needed a clean, he thought absently. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Arthur said. “You just had some sort of weird… fit and started babbling nonsense!” 

“Oh,” Merlin closed his aching eyes. 

“Was it something to do with the demon?” 

He shook his pounding head. “Something different.” He was tired, wanted to sleep. Felt himself almost drifting away, even as Arthur was speaking to him again. But then there was an unbelievably loud knocking on the door and he jerked, wide awake.

“Yes!” Arthur shouted in frustration. 

“Arthur?” it was Gwaine. “Where the hell have you been all morning?” The knight strode purposefully into the room, his red cape flowing off his shoulders. Then he stopped. “Merlin!” he exclaimed, rushing forwards. “What did you do to him?” he demanded of Arthur, pushing the king backwards and away from the warlock. 

Arthur caught his balance quickly, and angrily gave Gwaine a shove back. “I didn’t do anything to him!” he insisted. 

“Gwaine it’s alright, I’m alright!” Merlin protested, holding up a hand to stop his friends squabbling like little boys. 

“Well what happened then?” 

“He just nose dived onto the floor and started babbling,” Arthur said. “And I mean worse than usual, real rubbish.” 

“Thanks,” Merlin muttered. 

“Oh,” Gwaine said in understanding. He waved a hand in front of his face. “You mean he went visiony.” 

“You’ve seen this before?” 

“Of course,” Gwaine said with a cheeky smile. “That night in the forest when I brought him back after you’d sent him off for water. You know, that day of your suicidal dash back to Camelot.” 

Arthur remembered instantly the sight of Gwaine appearing out of the gloom with four water skins over one shoulder, and Merlin over the other. He remembered the twinge of fear, his feeling of powerlessness as they’d laid the warlock down and been unable to do anything to help him. “That was the same thing?” Arthur was incredulous. 

“Yeah. What did he say this time?” 

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. “I wasn’t really listening. And anyway, I told you it was rubbish.” 

Gwaine just gave him a look. “Someone tells you the future,” he said scornfully. “And you think it’s rubbish?” 

“Told me the… oh! So that’s the… ,” Arthur worked his way through everything and looked at his servant. “He can see the future.” 

They both stared at Merlin. Who blinked. 

“You two… know I can hear you right?” he said eventually. 

“What did you see?” Arthur demanded, ignoring his sarcasm. 

“Oh he never remembers a vision,” Gwaine dropped in, trying to sound knowledgeable. 

“Actually,” Merlin said tiredly, taking a slow breath. “I sort of do now.” 

“You told me you didn’t!” 

He shrugged. “Things change.” 

“So what did you see?” Arthur insisted again. 

Merlin shut his eyes, sighing. “There was a voice,” he said quietly. 

“It was something about running,” Arthur said, remembering suddenly. 

Merlin nodded, and found the words imprinted on his brain as though he’d learned them by rote. “And he shall run from the seat of power,” he began. “To the place of hopes and dreams. There two shall face the beast. Strength comes from light. Death from broken hearts.” 

There was a short silence. 

“Well that’s cheerful.” Gwaine commented. 

Merlin just shrugged. The future was the future. 

“The seat of power,” Arthur muttered, he was clearly trying to decipher the words. “The seat of power must be the citadel,” he guessed. “Wouldn’t you say?” 

Merlin nodded, shifting slightly, and realising that the sharp thing his back was against was actually a table leg. It wasn’t comfortable. 

“So, someone has to lead this creature away from the citadel, yes? But to where? Where’s this place where dreams are – what was it?” 

“The place of hopes and dreams.” Merlin filled in. 

“The training ground?” Gwaine guessed. Arthur turned to him, curious. “Well, that’s where you try out your new knights isn’t it? And it’s every man’s dream here to become a knight – for some reason I’ve never quite been able to figure out.” 

“It’s Arthur’s sweet and supporting manner,” the warlock slipped in with a smile. 

“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur said without even looking at him. He was muttering again. “The place of hopes and dreams… Gwaine you could be right. So someone has to lead the demon from the citadel to the training ground. And then what?” 

“Then we fight him,” Merlin said, with a determination he didn’t feel. “You and me, together.” 

“Yes, but it doesn’t say how. Just something about broken hearts,” Arthur protested. “Aren’t visions of the future supposed to tell you, oh, I don’t know, what’s going to happen in the future or something!” 

“I’m not a crystal ball, Arthur!” Merlin said, exacerbated. “You get what you get.” 

“Broken hearts,” Arthur whispered. He was clearly thinking hard, his face scrunched up in concentration. 

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Well if the two of you can stop muttering and being prophetic for a minute or two, Arthur I did actually come here to tell you that a council meeting has been called.” 

That broke Arthur’s train of thought. “What? Who by?” 

Gwaine shrugged. “All of us. We’ve no idea what’s happening and we were hoping you’d have some sort of a plan to stop the apocalypse. You know, being our king and all.” 

Arthur said: “What, right now?” 

“They’re waiting.” 

“Alright then,” Arthur got to his feet, and leaned down to grab Merlin’s arm. “Come on,” he said, pulling determinedly. 

“Hey!” Merlin protested, as Gwaine took his other arm and the two yanked him upright. “What are you doing! I’m tired!” 

“No time for sleep,” Arthur said. “We’ve got a council meeting to go to.” 

“What, both of us?” 

“Yes,” Arthur said resolutely. “Both of us.”


	17. The calm before the storm

The knights looked scared. Well, not scared exactly, knights of Camelot never really looked scared. But certainly concerned. Anxious. There was an air of expectation in the council chambers, and they were looking at their king as one might look to a saviour who has come to reassure them that everything was going to be okay. 

Arthur looked back at them, wishing he could be that definite. He offered them a grim smile, staring round at all their faces, holding each gaze briefly as he went around the table, knowing each by name and by character. 

Merlin was sitting at the far side of the round table, his eyes firmly closed, one hand holding onto the table’s edge as if to anchor him. They’d had a talk before coming in, Arthur dragging him into an ante-chamber and leaving the knights waiting. It had been brief, with only a few pointed questions (things the king should have asked about ages ago, but had been avoiding), before entering the council chambers and guiding Merlin silently to a chair. The answers he’d received, while not unexpected, were still rather vexing, and it was taking quite an effort to face his knights with a neutral expression. But then, stuffing down his emotions and just getting on with things, was one of Arthur’s many talents. 

He nodded. “Knights,” he began, in the deep voice he reserved for only his most crucial speeches. “We have come a difficult road these last few days. And every one of you has proved yourself beyond doubt an exemplary servant of Camelot. But our greatest challenge still lies ahead. 

“I know that you are all aware of what Morgana has done, and the knowledge of what is emerging from beneath the citadel is now widespread. This is a foe unlike any we have encountered before. It is a terrible beast, which by all accounts, was fought and defeated by our forefathers long ago. It is being unleashed on a world that Morgana believes is unprepared, and unable to defeat it. But she is wrong. We can destroy this enemy.” 

A slight murmur of support went around the table. 

Arthur changed tack. “I have not been your king for long,” he said. “Since my father was cruelly taken from us all.” He looked down. “Uther was a great man,” he went on, with just a hint of emotion creeping into his voice. “He was a powerful king, a good father. Not a moment goes by that I do not miss him: his council, his support, his wisdom.” He paused, as sorrow sought to overwhelm him. But he controlled it firmly, and continued with speed. “But as with all men, my father had flaws. In one area he allowed his hatred and fear to control his decisions: and that area was magic.” Arthur paused again, as another murmur went around the knights. A couple of them glanced at each other. 

“My father rejected magic,” he went on. “Because of an incident that happened over 20 years ago. It was personal, and the result was the death of hundreds of innocent people.” He looked up and around the knights firmly. “I understand why he did it, but I also now believe he was wrong.” 

More of them glanced around, some with expressions of amazement. 

“I loved my father dearly,” Arthur said. “But in many ways, it was his views on magic that were his downfall. If the Lady Morgana had not felt herself ostracised from the court because of her magical abilities, if she’d been able to learn and better her skills in the open, instead of hiding them in the shadows and seeking teachers in the dark, it is possible, in fact quite likely, that this day would never have come. 

“But we cannot re-write the past, nor hope to correct the mistakes of others. We must merely seek to not repeat them ourselves.”

He sighed deeply. 

“Today,” he said. “It is magic that will be our salvation.” He allowed that to sink in. Then he smiled slightly, and pushing back his chair, he moved out from the table, and slowly began to walk around it behind them. “I have been extremely lucky, as it turns out,” he went on. “Through the years, there have been a great many magical threats that I have faced, that we have all faced, and we have defeated them all. There has been not a magical beast nor a mythical creature myself and my knights could not best.” His smile widened, and he clapped a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder as he passed him. “Griffins,” he said. Then he pointed at Leon on the other side of the table. “Dragons.” Then at Gwaine. “Wyvern.” Gwaine grinned back broadly. Arthur continued to walk. “We have faced evil sorcerers, wraiths, witches, curses, armies of the dead, and Camelot has never fallen. We have never let it fall. But as it turns out, we’ve had a little help.” 

He stopped, and glanced around, gauging their reaction. Some of his knights were looking shocked at what he was saying. A few were smiling, one or two with uncertainty. A couple had a dark look on their faces, and these Arthur fixed on, gazing into their eyes as if to reassure them. One held his gaze, his face softening slightly under his king’s scrutiny. The other dropped his eyes almost immediately. 

Nodding to himself, satisfied that they were with him up to this point, Arthur continued to walk. He’d made it nearly one revolution, and turned to go back, re-tracing his steps. 

“There is one here in Camelot who has been practising magic for many years.” He heard another intake of breath from some of the knights. “Not for evil,” Arthur went on quickly. “But to protect us, to protect me. And this person did it under risk of being executed every day. The fear must have been immense, but they continued, no matter what the cost. And it’s a good thing they did, because if it hadn’t been for this person, we wouldn’t have defeated the dragon or the griffin or the armies of the dead. In fact, we probably wouldn’t be here now, and we certainly wouldn’t be able to defeat the threat that faces us today.” 

Arthur stopped again, directly opposite from where he’d started. He put his arms on the back of Merlin’s chair, leaning on it casually as though it was a bar and he was ordering a drink. 

“I think you can open your eyes now,” he said gently. 

It was a statement that might have implied to some of the knights that it was time for them to see the truth for themselves, and certainly, his phrase had that double meaning. For when Merlin did as he was asked, it was as though a veil had been drawn away from the knights’ eyes at the revelation of his glowing ones. 

There were more gasps, several of the knights got to their feet, chairs scraping away backwards, some with angry and shocked cries. 

Arthur ignored them all, standing up and away from Merlin’s chair, as the warlock sat there wishing quite ardently that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. His cheeks were burning with the attention, but he knew it was necessary and he held his ground, trying not to fidget. 

Arthur meanwhile, was walking around the table again under the gaze of the knights. He knew Merlin was in no danger from them. After all, he’d seen what had happened to Alvarr the previous evening. And he was pretty certain that even if Merlin hadn’t been willing to defend himself against the knights of Camelot, Gwaine and Lancelot would leap in to do it for him should the need arise. 

But as he had suspected, after a few moments of uproar, the room began to quiet again, and by the time he had re-taken his position at the head of the table, looking firm and regal, all voices had died away. Arthur didn’t sit. 

“Merlin has served me with loyalty and devotion – and with magic these past years,” he stated firmly. “It is true I did not know of his abilities, and when I found out, my reaction was probably similar to yours…. maybe more so. But I now know what he has done for us, done for me. And I am more grateful than I can ever say for his courage and his bravery.” 

Merlin’s cheeked flushed a darker shade of red, and he fought the small smile of pride that threatened to grace his lips. 

Arthur continued: “Two nights ago he took into himself a magical power with the specific intention of stopping the demon that my sister has unleashed upon us. This power was so strong that it has cost him dear, and taken his sight.” He looked around. “Though maybe today it would be some comfort that he is unable to see the expressions that I can see now on some of your faces.” 

Arthur wasn’t beyond guilting them. It was the fastest way, sometimes, to bring people round to a fact they did not wish to face. And true enough, many of those who had had anger in their eyes, appeared to soften, and look away. 

“But sire,” one spoke. 

“Yes Sir Anthony,” Arthur allowed. 

“With respect,” he said. “Your father was not wrong. Every magic user that we have come across in these last 20 years has been intent on Camelot’s destruction. Merlin may have appeared loyal to you, but what if he has other intentions?” The knight glanced nervously in Merlin’s direction, clearly expecting him to strike him dead on the spot. But Merlin’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t move. 

Arthur looked at his knight. “We have fought many enemies these last years,” he agreed. “We have fought many kings who have been intent on Camelot’s destruction. But we would never think that this fact makes all kings evil.” 

“Yes, but sorcery corrupts your soul,” another knight, Sir Gerraint broke in. “I was brought up to believe this sire. It is an evil power that blackens even the purest of hearts.” 

“What rot!” Gwaine scoffed loudly. “Tell me, do you still check under your bed for monsters at night as well?” 

Anger flooded Sir Gerraint’s face, and it appeared he would have stood to challenge Gwaine’s tone, when Arthur broke in. 

“Gwaine!” he chastised, then turned back to Gerraint. “I must admit I am a novice in the ways of magic,” he said, honestly. “But I would imagine, as in all things, having some sort of magical power or ability, would probably lend itself to a belief that you were different. Perhaps worthy of special treatment.” He smiled. “I seem to remember that as I was growing up I thought myself very worthy of special treatment. I also seem to remember that I was particularly harsh on anyone who did not show me the respect I believed that I deserved. I can’t imagine I was very pleasant to be around.” There were a few smiles around the table from those who remembered just how unpleasant Arthur had been as a cocky teenager striding round court, baiting and jeering those weaker than him. 

“But I’m not sure if you’ve really noticed Merlin in the five years since he’s been here?” Arthur asked Gerraint, his voice hardening slightly. “Maybe you haven’t noticed him because he was a servant, or because he was always on his knees scrubbing my floors, or running around hidden behind piles of laundry or armour, or fetching bathwater, or sharpening swords or mucking out the horses.” He fixed Gerraint with a look. “These are not the actions of a man who believes himself special.” 

There was a short uncomfortable silence. 

The Elyan spoke. “Merlin?” he asked. “What’s it like – to have magic?” 

Merlin smiled, grateful for his question, for his silent support. “It’s – um,” he began in a quiet voice. “Scary,” he admitted, nodding slightly. “Being here, knowing how people feel about people like me. But even where I came from, where magic wasn’t forbidden, people didn’t trust it. And I’ve had it my entire life.” he blinked. “So I guess, I don’t really know what it’s like – to not have magic.”

“Do you mean us harm, on your honour?” Sir Anthony demanded of him directly, earning himself a scowl from Gwaine. 

But Merlin was unperturbed, and simply shook his head. “I’ll take any oath you want,” he stated. “I am not a knight, but on my life, I mean only to protect you, and to protect Arthur most of all. It’s why I’m here. It’s why I’ve always been here.”

“Look,” Arthur said commandingly. “I’m sure you’ve all got questions, and they will be answered. But for right now, we have something more pressing to worry ourselves about, like facing the demon when it emerges from its hellish pit. What we have to decide here is what exactly is going to happen.” He sat down again. “Knights,” he said. “This is a new age. There is a new king on the throne of Camelot. And believe me, he’s a king who really, really doesn’t want to rule just until this evening.” 

*** 

It was a sweltering day, one of those days that you long for all winter, then regret when it arrives in summer. The knights sweated silently in their chain mail ovens. The remaining nobles in the citadel swore quietly in their expensive leathers, the poorer residents tugged at their thick linens. All were tense, stomachs churning, mouths dry from the heat and the stress. 

After they’d laid their plans, Merlin had returned to his chambers to find an anxious Gaius waiting for him. He’d told him as much as he could, and they’d sat together for a long time in silence, Gaius simply placing his hands over Merlin’s on top of the table. 

Merlin was afraid. There was no way of getting around it. Great power, or no great power, he was young and life should have been stretching out before him full of possibilities and hope. And here he was, about to risk everything for a kingdom that barely accepted him. Death was looming too close, like a man with bad breath in a bar. 

Gaius was afraid for him, and if Merlin had the use of his eyes, he might have been concerned for his guardian, whose face was pale as he watched Merlin silently struggle to accept his fate. 

And so the two of them sat, drawing strength from each other, from their bond, from their love. Fate approached with heavy footsteps, but for now they had each other, and nothing else to do but wait. 

On the battlements, Arthur stood with his arms wrapped around Guinevere, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. They were looking out over the land, seeing the heat hazily rising away into the clearest of clear blue skies. It should have been glorious, a lazy afternoon together, with no one to reproach them for their impropriety. But that was because Arthur’s father was dead, and anyone else who might have complained was too distracted by the impending doom. 

Arthur was clinging to her, not wanting to ever let her go. Guinevere was his life now, her, the kingdom, the role he had assumed. This was his world, and he hated that it was threatened, hated that so much violence had already occurred under his short reign, and that so much was still ahead. 

He could see faintly, Morgana’s troops in the distance, a black smudge on the horizon. It made his stomach clench to see it. Even if a miracle happened this day and they did indeed defeat the demon, they would still have this to contend with. His sister would still be out there, waiting. 

Sighing, he noted the position of the sun in the sky, and kissed his love low on her cheek. She shut her eyes and leaned into him, and the weight was comforting, her presence, her trust. 

“I’m going to have to go,” he murmured quietly. 

She nodded, opening her eyes as a single tear trickled its way through the dust on her cheek. 

“Win for me,” she muttered back. 

“Guinevere,” he whispered, but then she turned and kissed him. And in that instant, it was as though they had stepped out of the world and were together elsewhere, where no harm was even thought of to hurt them. There was only that kiss, only their two souls joined together trying desperately to cling to this moment forever. 

And then it was over. 

She pulled away from him and stared deeply into his eyes, giving everything to him, everything for him. 

“I’m not going to die,” he said firmly. 

Her eyes hardened. “No you’re not, Arthur Pendragon. You’re the king, you’re the rightful man to rule this land, and no one can take that from you!” She put her hands on either side of his face. “And I love you, Arthur. King or no king. I believe in you.” 

He reached up and took her hands gently from his face, holding them in his, and then bringing them to his lips for a soft kiss. 

“I will come back to you,” he asserted. 

She nodded, tears threatening again, but he turned away quickly, not wanting to see them fall, and hurried away along the wall under the gaze of his knights. 

The shadows lengthened. All was prepared.


	18. The demon rises

In his head, he could remember only the darkness. It was a screaming dark, not the darkness of death or of night, but the darkness of terror, of terrible dreams that rip your soul. For he had slept, and with sleep surely dreams must come. 

Then suddenly there had been a light in the darkness, a painful light at first, one that summoned him, dragging at his mind like a hook in a fish’s mouth. He’d obeyed, angrily at first, then willingly, allowing the light to pull him forward, take him away from the darkness, from the nothing towards… something. 

Each moment of time screamed as he went, the pain filling his entire being, tormenting him, laughing at him. It was almost beyond endurance, drove him mad with the desire only to escape, to be free of it. It almost made him long for the darkness again. Almost. 

But closer and closer to freedom he came, climbing higher and higher, every ounce of his being willing it. This day was his, and none would stop him. Those who had imprisoned him would be punished, and he would never return to the darkness again. 

There was light ahead, true light, light that he had not seen in a thousand years or more. He strove towards it, reached for it, desired it, then burst from the darkness like a storm of fire. 

He roared, hearing his voice swell as his fingers clawed at the air in a spasm of joy so potent it was painful. He was alive; he was free. And he was hungry. 

Willing his eyes to adjust after centuries of inky black, he moved his pitiless gaze slowly around him. All was smoking and dust. He could hear screaming, and smiled at the memory of it, felt waves of anguish and fear rolling towards him on the air. He breathed it in, sucking up the sweetness and letting it fill him. It was nourishment after so long alone with the dark. Wherever he was, there were creatures of life near him, beings that would suffer for what had been done to him. Suffer because he willed it. Suffer because he needed it. 

He turned. There were men before him. He remembered men. Tiny creatures with tiny hearts and tiny souls, with an arrogance he admired, and bites like insects. He laughed. They had tiny weapons and were pointing them at him in what he presumed was an aggressive manner. Not that he felt threatened. But these men were brave, they did not have enough fear for him. He needed more. He needed terror. 

Sniffing the air, he sensed it nearby. There were more men somewhere close. And women. And little innocent children with their nightmares and their baseless fears. He took three long steps towards a building with towering walls, raising his fist, and then bringing it down with shattering strength upon the roof. Stones cracked, and dust rose, stifling in the hot air. He swung his fist again, hearing screams now, excited by them. His second blow brought more cracks, his third struck a hole, the stones falling away to the ground far below and smashing around his feet. 

There were the fearful. He could see them in the gloom, terrified faces staring back at him, running away from him. He wanted them: their innocence, their panic. Wanted to consume them. 

Deliberately, he reached up a massive hand and pulled away more of the wall, howling in joy at the destruction. There was food here a-plenty, and a land waiting to be devoured beyond that. Whatever had brought him here, it knew just how to please him. 

He reached inside, clawed fingers grasping for his first victim, hungry now and slathering, the horror in their faces stirring up his appetite. 

Then his cries of joy turned suddenly to shrieks of pain as he felt something strike him in the back, something that burned and hurt him. How could it be that these insects were able to inflict such pain upon him!

He put his hand around to his back, pulling away from the wall with another howl, and feeling for what had stung him. He staggered among the fallen stones, stepping away to the clearer ground as his fingers closed around a small object burnt into his skin. Shrieking, he ripped it out, holding the thing and bringing it up to his eyes to examine it. The thing reeked of dragon, and he growled at the memory of his old foe. But this was not a dragon, nor even a part of a dragon. It was a stone, a black pebble that burned him to touch, and he cast it on the ground with a cry. 

Then he heard a voice. 

“Hello!” 

Angry, he looked about him. There standing alone was another man. He wore armour and a sword, and he had no fear. 

“You want someone to fight?”

He howled. 

“Fight me then!” 

The man turned and ran. On instinct, he followed, raging that these creatures had injured him, that they had the audacity to provoke him. He took long, pounding steps, ignoring all others in his path and following this one man who had challenged him. He would finish this insignificant brat off first, then return for the others. It made no difference to him what order they died. 

He broke through an archway, sending stones scattering all around, then saw the man scuttling away between houses of thatch and wood. 

He followed, furious, growing closer to his prey with every step. Another gateway loomed, he broke through that as well, throwing stones in the air like dust with the force of his passage. 

Then he stopped. And sniffed.

Before him was a green field and woods beyond. The man who had challenged him had vanished, but in his place stood another man. This man was different from the others. He smelt different. He was standing on his own, nothing but a staff in his hand. No weapons, no armour. 

He took a step forward, knowing a challenge when he saw one, smiling, welcoming it. If these creatures wished to put up a fight, then so much the better. Victory on the back of a defeat was always so much sweeter. 

He took another step forward, and cautiously sniffed again, sensing danger. This man smelt wrong. He smelt as the stone had done. He smelt of dragon. 

“I am Merlin,” the man said. 

He put his head to one side. Curious. 

“I am Emrys,” the man went on, voice shaking slightly with ill-disguised terror. “You are come to Camelot to destroy and to kill. I am here to stop you.” 

He threw back his head and laughed, deep and long. He loved arrogance and he loved desperation. 

But then suddenly he faltered, staggering backwards as a bright light hit him hard in the chest. The light came from the man, emanating from his body like a sun. It hurt. It burnt. And it shouldn’t hurt. This man could not hurt him. No man could. 

He howled, trying to take a step forwards, but the light was strong, it blinded him, and he put up a hand to shield his eyes. He felt himself forced backwards, stumbling, turning slightly from the light. This was power. The man had old magic, too old for his years. 

He was pushed physically away, catching his foot on the stones from the destroyed archway and falling, crashing into the structure with a noise like a mountain coming down, rubble tumbling around him, dust rising into the air. Still the light didn’t stop. He felt it eating into his soul, wounding him, taking him towards death. 

He screamed. 

But when the dragons had defeated the demons long before, they’d had one advantage that had brought about their victory. Dragons do not feel fear. 

This was his only remaining weapon, his only chance of survival. And though it hurt him, he pulled on all his remaining strength and reached out. He sought the man’s mind, ploughing into it, invading it, hunting out pain and darkness. If this man had suffered, if he had known sorrow and grieved for another, if he’d had reason to doubt himself or felt himself hated, or unloved, then all that could be turned against him and used to bring about his downfall. 

The demon smiled. 

Then he pulled. 

The man cried out, and the light faltered. 

He pulled again, ripping the images and the memories from his mind and filling his consciousness with them, pain after pain, death after death. 

The man screamed now, the light dimming to almost nothing, and satisfied, he levered himself up from amongst the stones and took a step forward, looking down at his victim, who was still attempting to fight back. But any light was weak now, its power wavering. 

“You are no match for me,” he said. “Your kind will die, and you with them. Darkness shall cover all, and your light will be extinguished forever.”

He tugged again, searching deeper, finding an endless stream of pain to garner and use, turning the mind of the man against him, and having no need to do anything other than watch. The man fell to the ground then, hands clutched to his head, all light extinguished, all power receding, weak now and struggling, mortal, screaming against the darkness. Mere moments of this and most men were dead, defeated by their own fears. 

Then he in turn stumbled and faltered, a stinging pain screeching at him suddenly from what would have been, had he been any creature of the earth, his right calf. He turned, distracted, stumbling backwards again, and reaching down. His fingers traced a foreign object in his leg, but he struggled to reach it, eventually pulling it out with anger, recognising a human weapon. He curled his fingers and crushed the item to dust with ease, lip curling in disgust. Then he turned back to finish his victim. 

But the man was gone. 

***

Arthur deposited Merlin quickly on the ground behind the corner of the battlements, taking a quick look back into the open, and feeling his stomach lurch at the sight of the demon crushing his finest sword as though it were made of paper. Then he turned back to his friend. Merlin still hadn’t come to himself. He was shaking and gasping. There was blood on his mouth. 

Feeling helpless, Arthur took his face in both hands. “Merlin!” he shouted as loudly as he dared. The instant his hands touched his skin, he felt a wave of terror and darkness overwhelm him. It was like drowning in images, and he saw with shattering clarity, battlefields with blood and gore, the faces of those he knew twisted in anger or sorrow, faces he half recognised, dead before him, his sister gasping, her hands clutching at her throat…

“Arthur!” 

He felt a blow and opened his eyes with a gasp. Merlin had slapped him, not very accurately, but with enough force to snap him out of whatever nightmare he’d just slipped into. 

“What…” Arthur gasped, his eyes wide. “The hell was that?” 

“Pain and darkness,” Merlin said. “My pain and darkness to be exact.” He was taking deep breaths. “You took half of it when you touched me. Enough to overcome it.” 

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, feeling far from alright himself after what he’d just seen, but in no way ready to admit it. 

“Bit my tongue,” Merlin said, by way of answer. Then he looked in Arthur’s general direction. “How are we doing?” 

Arthur shrugged. “Not particularly great.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, you’re lying in a heap, I’ve lost my sword, and that thing,” he glanced round the corner to check on the demon, which was now howling and coming in their general direction. “Looks really pissed off.” He looked back round. “Next time,” he said. “You decide to make me a magic sword, can I just suggest that you don’t leave it lying around in giant rocks where it isn’t going to be any use to man nor beast!” 

“Right Arthur. Next time I make you a magic sword, I’ll try to remember that!” 

“Any amazing ideas?” Arthur wondered, and they both flinched as stone shattered above their heads, tiny sharp pieces dancing off around them. Clearly the demon had thrown something in their direction. It knew where they were. 

“Not really,” Merlin said. “That was just about all the power I had.” 

“It felt it,” Arthur reassured him. “It was definitely looking uncomfortable for a bit there. Y’know, before you started screaming.” 

“Very girly I’m sure,” Merlin said. 

“It was quite girly,” Arthur agreed, starting as another rock thudded to the ground nearby, throwing up clods of dirt and grass. “Okay, so we’re definitely going to die then.” 

Merlin shut his eyes, willing this not to be happening. It wasn’t fair! They’d tried so hard. They'd come so far, and suffered so much. But how could they defeat something that fed on fear? The dragon had warned him, but he’d ignored it. Now, his very memories, the battles that he’d fought, his grief, his own guilt would be his downfall. 

“Still,” Arthur was prattling on beside him. “Where there’s life there’s hope.” 

Merlin stilled, and they both flinched again, as more rock went flying off from above their heads. “What did you say?” 

Arthur glanced at him. “Where there’s life there’s hope,” he said again. “One of the ladies in court who helped to bring me up used to say that. She was full of useless phrases, but she was quite a jolly person really. Maybe those useless phrases help you to be jolly.” 

“Hope,” Merlin muttered. Remembering the dragon’s words. “Hope and dreams are to them a very poison.” 

“What was that?” 

“Hope Arthur. It is hope that will save us!” 

The demon roared, it was close, almost upon them. 

“I’m as hopeful as the next man Merlin, but even I know when I’ve been beaten.” 

“No,” Merlin said to him, turning. “No Arthur, you don’t.” 

And with that, he placed his hands around Arthur’s face, his thumbs resting lightly on his eyelids. Once again, Arthur felt himself awash with images, and he struggled briefly, before recognising the sensation as different from before. He realised in a flash that he must be seeing the future. He saw the citadel rebuilt, his people happy. He saw others flocking to his banner, a realm of peace and justice and prosperity. Hope swelled within him. He wanted this, wanted it so badly. Then Guinevere was in front of him, smiling, happy, his wife, his everything. He almost wept for joy, unaware of the demon appearing beside them like a hot wind from hell. 

But a new light was there to face it, coming from both of them this time. 

And the demon stopped. 

“Not enough,” Merlin said to himself, ignoring it as it screamed in frustration. “Not enough.” 

And suddenly the light spread. One by one as it reached out, every man, woman and child in Camelot felt their heads filled with images, their minds at peace at the sight of their happy futures, a world they could only have dreamed of amid their present terror. It soothed them, and succoured them, and calm swelled. 

The demon screamed in anger, as the light started to pour into him, light from all around, from everywhere. It was overwhelming him, burning him, worse than before, and he reached down a clawed hand to rid himself of these two insects once and for all. 

“Now!” 

The hollered word came from above him, and before he knew it, a hundred arrows were flying in his direction. He howled in pain as they hit his body, already weakened by the light and the hope he could sense within it. Then more arrows came, the knights of Camelot loosing round after round with bows and crossbows. Stones were hurled, and spears. 

The demon fell back, screaming again as he felt his power leave him, his strength ebbing. It could not be! These men could not destroy him! 

“Hope,” a quiet voice whispered in his faltering mind. “Without hope and dreams, man is nothing. But with them he becomes as a god.”

“No!” he screamed, as the pain within him grew and grew. “No!” 

The light intensified, it was all around him, squeezing him, destroying him, devouring his darkness. 

“Nooooooo!” 

With one last terrible cry, the demon exploded, energy lashing out in all directions. 

It hit the two boys and knocked them flat. With a gasp, Merlin let go of Arthur and looked up on instinct as he heard the wall crack above them. He threw out a spell to shield them, but too little too late, and he felt something collide heavily with his shoulder, before he hit the ground and knew no more.


	19. Broken hearts

When he was next aware, the world was hazy. There was noises all around, but he wasn’t really listening. He could hear them, he just wasn’t listening. People were near, beside him, talking. He hoped they would let him sleep. After all, he’d had a rough couple of days and he really rather needed it. His one desire after everything he’d been through was just to keep his eyes shut and slip away back into peaceful oblivion. 

The voices came closer. Merlin wondered if they would leave him alone if he just lay still enough…

“Ow!” The exclamation was out of his lips before he could stop it, and his eyes flared open in shock at the sudden pain. Gwaine was hunched over him, a big smile on his handsome face.

“Oh so you are alive then,” he smirked. “I was beginning to wonder.” He went back to prodding at Merlin as the warlock allowed the world to settle around him like dust. 

“Ow!” he protested again, alertness creeping back with the sensation of pain. “Would you stop doing that!” 

“You may have broken your collar bone,” Gwaine said, his face serious for once. 

“Then should you really be poking it? Merlin complained and batted Gwaine’s hand away from his shoulder.

“I’m just checking you out for injuries,” the knight told him. “You had half a wall land on you. It’s amazing you’re alive at all!”

“Yes, well I have quite the talent for surviving,” Merlin sighed, dropping his head back down and allowing his eyes to close again and raising his right hand to his forehead. His skin felt hot to his own touch, and he allowed his fingers to settle over the contours of his brow, blocking out the light and bringing an oddly comforting sensation. 

“You’ve were lucky though,” Gwaine was continuing with his prodding and his commentary of said prodding. “Those rocks would have been enough to kill most almost anyone, and I don’t think your arm is – “

“Ow!” this cry was the loudest of them all. He ripped his hand away from his face, and used it to try and struggle upwards in a vain attempt to stop Gwaine from manhandling any more of his injuries. 

Seeing his glare, Gwaine backed off quickly. “Or maybe it is,” he conceded. 

Merlin was cradling his injured limb now, which actually hurt more than what Gwaine had been doing, but at least he was causing his own pain. He fought off the slight urge he had to scream at the horrendous sensation of things moving in his arm that shouldn’t have been able to move, and focussed his attention instead on the knight in front of him. “Gwaine, seriously!” he exclaimed. “The physician’s trade isn’t for you!” 

Gwaine just grinned again, glad to see him more upright. “I’ll go find something to splint that with,” he said, and got to his feet. 

“Wait,” something occurred to the warlock. “What happened? Where’s – where’s Arthur?” 

“He’s unconscious,” Gwaine said, indicating with his chin where the blonde king lay. The warlock followed his gaze, just in time for a loud moan of pain to emanate from the same general direction. “Mostly,” Gwaine added. “But he’s okay. Managed to avoid most of the rocks, as you did. You’re both freakishly lucky if you ask me. Bit of a cut on that kingly noggin of his, that’s all.” 

“Yeah I can see that,” Merlin told him, eying up the blood that marred his friend’s face. He hoped he wasn’t hurt too seriously. 

“Hard head,” Gwaine said, nodding. “I’ll go find that splint,” and he turned to go. But he’d only taken about 5 steps when he abruptly stopped, and turned back. “Merlin?” 

“Hm?” Merlin turned towards him, still barely aware. 

Gwaine was smiling again. He retraced his steps to the warlock. Merlin followed him with his eyes, frowning slightly, confused. Gwaine crouched down right in front of him, and Merlin could see that he was blood stained on the front of his chain mail armour. He was also covered in dust, presumably from the wall. They must have been searching for them through the rubble. He wondered how long they’d been buried. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine said again, his smile still broad. “Can you see?” 

Merlin blinked, suddenly aware of why the world appeared so dramatically different. A smile found his lips too. “I guess I can,” he admitted 

Gwaine shook his head a little. “How?” 

“I don’t – I’m not sure,” Merlin admitted, blinking. “Maybe I used up the power the dragon gave me.” 

“Your eyes aren’t glowing anymore.” 

“No?” 

Gwaine shook his head once more. “No. You look like yourself again. I mean – you need a bath.” 

Merlin’s smile grew wider as he realised something. “We won,” he said, slightly in awe. 

“Yeah,” Gwaine reached out to pat him on his good shoulder. “We did. You did.” 

Merlin blushed. “Had a little help,” he said. 

“True. My bow work from the battlements was particularly impressive. But I don’t think any of us would be here right now without you.” He patted him again. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” 

When he was gone, Merlin looked around, realising for the first time how much he’d missed seeing the world, the colours, the beauty of it. The sun looked low in the sky, almost on the point of setting. It was glorious, hazy. 

Arthur groaned again. Merlin looked in his direction, and then rolled himself cautiously over, gasping as he jostled his arm and thinking briefly that this was a really bad idea, before struggling to his feet and staggering the few steps to where the king lay. He used what remained of the wall to help himself back down, ignoring the way the world blurred a little around the edges as pain throbbed angrily up and down his left side. 

“How is he?” he gasped out to distract himself. 

Elyan glanced over from where he was tending the King. He grinned. “I think he’ll be just fine, my little sorcerer,” he said. “Though he’s not really woken yet. Quite the head wound. Might need some stitches.” 

“I can do that,” Merlin said, sounding drunk in his own ears. “I’m very good at stitches.” 

He didn’t want to shut out the beauty of the world, but his eyes were so tired. If he just closed them for a second, he promised himself he would open them again soon and never shut them again. 

Another pain in his arm brought him back to reality. Gwaine was bending over him. 

“Lean forward,” he said. 

“Hm?” 

“Couldn’t find a splint. I’ll just bandage you up and get you to Gaius. Lean forward so I can wrap this around.” 

Merlin did as he was told, watching in a slightly detached way, as Arthur was loaded onto a stretcher by four knights. Around them stood quite the group of bystanders. 

Great, he thought. We’ve become a spectator sport. 

“There we are,” Gwaine said, finishing tying off his rather untidy but functionally adequate sling. “Just try not to move around too much and you’ll be fine. Up you get.” 

He wrapped his arm around Merlin’s right side and pulled him upwards. 

“Okay?” 

At Merlin’s nod, they started the walk back to the citadel. They walked in silence at first, Merlin concentrating on keeping upright and Gwaine concentrating on helping him to keep upright. But as they passed through the lower town and up towards the keep, they saw destruction all around, saw people crouched over bodies, some crying. 

“Are there many dead?” Merlin wondered. 

“A few,” Gwaine admitted. “Our friend the demon was tossing lumps of rock around as though they weighed nothing. A few people got caught in the crossfire. Some of the refugees were crushed in the hall when part of the ceiling collapsed.”

“Is there much damage?” 

“Quite a bit,” Gwaine said. “But nothing we can’t fix. Place was due a lick of paint anyway. This’ll be a chance for Arthur to remodel if he wants to.” 

They passed through the second ruined gatehouse. 

“But what about Morgana’s men?” Merlin wondered, suddenly remembering the threat with a stab of fear. “If we’re weak, if the citadel is unprotected…” 

“Don’t you worry your head about that,” Gwaine said. “You’ve done your bit for today. Let others take up the fight now, yeah?” 

Merlin would have protested, but to be honest, he didn’t have the strength. His arm was really hurting now, and he couldn’t help but move it as they walked. He needed to sleep. He needed to recover. Whatever the rest of the day brought, it would just have to bring it without him. Gwaine was right. He’d done his part. 

They reached Gaius’ chambers, and Gwaine reached out to open the door. 

It was Guinevere that first caught Merlin’s attention. Or rather, it was her face. He didn’t think he’d seen her face full of such misery and woe since her father had died all that time ago. He frowned, curious as to what could have upset her so much. 

Then she looked up at him. “Oh Merlin!” she said. 

She was sitting on the floor cradling Gaius’ head in her lap. Merlin hadn’t even noticed his uncle at first, his brain having erased that bit of the scene from his sight. But at Gwen’s pain filled cry, his brain seemed to wake up and take everything in. 

He stumbled forward, pushing Gwaine away from him. 

“It’s his heart,” Gwen said, tears streaming down her face. “It was all just too much for him Merlin. Everything that’s happened.” 

Merlin sank to his knees, ignoring the protests of his arm, blind to everything else around him in the room. 

Gaius was on his back on the floor, face ashen, unmoving. 

“Is he…” he heard Gwaine ask from behind him. 

Gwen shook her head. “He’s held on,” she said, trying to smile at Merlin. “He’s held on for you.” 

Merlin felt hot tears start behind his eyes. He reached out to take Gaius’ hand. His fingers were tinged with blue. His skin was cold and grey. 

“Gaius,” he whispered. “I’m here.” He stroked his hand gently. 

Gaius’ eyes flickered open. His gaze landed instantly on Merlin, and the ghost of a smile traced his lips. 

“My boy,” he muttered. 

Merlin’s vision clouded with tears at the term of endearment that had been uniquely his uncle’s. He did nothing to stop the tears falling. “Yes, I’m here,” he managed to get out.

“What happened – with the demon?” Gaius’ words were slow, slurred. 

“We defeated it,” Merlin said firmly. “It’s dead. It won’t be coming back.” 

Gauis smiled again. “That’s good,” he said. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “I’m not hurt at all. I’m fine.” 

“That’s good,” Gaius said again. His eyes shut. “I’m tired.”

Merlin looked up as more people came into the room suddenly, knights, some carrying Arthur between them. Gwaine turned quickly, and they fell silent as they appreciated the scene before them. 

Merlin’s eyes flicked to Gwen, and his look of utter sorrow tore at her heart, bringing fresh tears to her face. 

He looked back at his uncle. “Then you should sleep,” he said in a choked voice. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Gaius opened his eyes again. “I’m so proud of you, Merlin,” he said. “So proud of what you’ve become.” 

“It’s because of you,” he got out. Tears were soaking the front of his tunic now. He felt them wet and hot as they stained the cloth. “I owe everything to you.” 

Gaius smiled at him. “My son,” he said, and his eyes shut again. 

Merlin didn’t want to see anymore. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He wasn’t strong enough for this. Wasn’t ready to be alone. He felt emotion welling up inside him threatening to burst out and sever his link with reality. 

But then Gauis opened his eyes again. “So tired,” he said. 

“Can I – do anything for you,” Merlin asked in a broken voice, grasping these last few seconds. “Is there anything you need, anything you want?” 

Gaius’ face crinkled a little as he thought. “Do you know,” he said slowly. “I wish I could have seen… Alice just one last time.” 

Merlin looked up at Gwen again, seeing her confused expression. His hands gripped tighter on his uncle’s, and he closed his eyes. 

“Onwreoh pe frowan pes mannum he lufah,” he murmured, opening his eyes again in time for Gwen to catch the golden flash glinting behind his tears. 

Her eyes widened as they were both bathed in a soft glow. She looked away up and to her left. A vision had appeared in the air: the face of a woman, lined with age and wisdom, but still beautiful. Gwen gasped, and the knights exclaimed in shock. 

But Merlin looked only at Gaius, seeing his uncle smile at Alice’s face before him. Then he closed his eyes, the smile still on his lips. 

Merlin grasped his hand firmly as he felt it go slack, his fingers tightening reflexively as he tried to hold on, to stop him from going. 

But he knew it was too late. 

Behind him, the vision faded, the light dissipating into the semi-darkness as quickly as it had appeared. And only then did Merlin let go, not to the hand he was holding, but to the misery inside, his cry a keen of pure sorrow.

***

He remembered very little of the night after that. It might have been the bereavement, or his injuries, or some lingering impact of the dragon’s powers, or all three together, but he lost himself somewhere, somewhere between the tears and the sympathy and the hard facts of life at its end. He didn’t see things moving around him, didn’t feel himself being moved. But he knew he must have been, because when he was brought to awareness by a sharp pain, he was sitting on his bed. There were candles lit in the dark room. A woman he only vaguely recognised was sitting before him wrapping his am in splints and bandages. She looked up at him as he flinched, her face sympathetic. He wondered what her name was. 

“Is it true that you and Arthur defeated the demon?” she asked in a clandestine whisper. She had a strong Welsh accent. 

His eyes wandered up to meet her gaze. Had they? It seemed a hundred years ago. “Yes,” he answered quietly, not knowing what else to say.

Her voice lowered even further. “They say – in the lower town – they’re saying you used magic.” 

His brow furrowed. Was that a bad thing? “Yes.” 

She smiled broadly. “Looks like magic will be coming back to the land,” she said. “Never could abide Uther’s law. I have a touch of magic myself, you know. Never used it of course, always too afraid. But maybe I’ll start now. If it’s okay again?” 

She was looking at him as if asking his permission, but he didn’t answer. His mind went elsewhere as she continued to treat him. The dull ache faded. 

When he opened his eyes again, he’d been asleep. Certainly, he was lying on his bed under the covers. It was dark still, very early morning. A single candle had been left burning in his room like a vigil. He looked at it, watched its flame glow silently and still with barely a flicker. The air was warm and calm. It would be a fine day ahead. 

He sat up, sleep suddenly far away. His arm and shoulder hurt, burned, but that was good. It was distracting. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The floor was cold under his feet. It felt hard. He looked around, dazed, and unsure what to do. What should he do? What was there to do? In the dark reaches of the night, all were asleep, and he was alone with this heavy misery that sat on his heart and threatened to crush him. 

He collapsed onto the bed again and leaning down, struggled to get his boots on with only one hand. He realised that his dusty, blood and tear stained tunic was gone, replaced with the white one he normally slept in. He left that on, and looked around for his jacket, spotting it, but then changing his mind before he even moved to reach for it. It wasn’t going to stay on right with one arm in a sling. He would just be cold. 

Silently, numbly, he crossed the room and opened his door. Outside, the room was clear. There were no patients, no mess. Only Gwaine was there lying on what had been Gaius’ bed, gentle snores coming from his mouth. Merlin passed him with barely a glance. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to see anyone. He only wanted to be away. 

He’d almost made it to the door, had pulled it open, when he spotted the green cloak. He paused, curious. It was sitting at the side on a stool with a bag resting on top of it. He wondered where it had come from, and crossed the room towards it. He felt the fabric in his hands, and picked it up. A cloak was easier than a jacket. He swung it on, almost crying out at the sharp pain caused by the jarring motion, but stifling it just in time. 

Outside, there were no guards, he supposed there was no need, but he drew his hood up and cast the simplest hiding spell he could think of as he walked along. He wanted to leave, he didn’t want to have to justify why to anyone. 

He walked. He just walked. All around him were the results of the devastating attack, but little activity. It seemed that the energy had gone out of the castle somehow and most people were at peace in their beds. Only a few guards were to be seen. He wondered about Morgana’s men: if they had attacked, what had happened. But he wondered about it only vaguely. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care about any of that any more. 

He walked. Out the castle gates and away into a darkness that was greying slightly as the summer sun threatened to rise in the east. He ignored it, keeping his hood up and the cloak close around him. He walked. Into the forest, through the trees and forwards, walked and walked and walked, finding the energy from somewhere to keep his tired limbs moving. 

By the time he reached the clearing, the sun had risen, and a pinky glow was stretching across the land, turning everything to soft pastel shades. The dragon was already there, waiting for him. 

They stood in silence for a while, watching the sun rise, hearing the birds singing and the little forest beasts move around them. Then Merlin shifted, wincing and clutching at his arm, as if that action would bring relief. 

“You are injured my lord,” the dragon said. His tone was deeply respectful. “Would you like me to heal you?” 

“No,” Merlin said immediately. 

The dragon seemed a little surprised. “You have broken bones,” he said. “These are not injuries to be taken lightly.” 

“The pain is good,” Merlin said, not looking at him. “I need it.” 

“As you wish.” 

Then Merlin did look, and saw his ancient face staring down on him with concern. 

“You knew the cost of me taking your power was not the loss of my eyesight,” he said. 

The dragon inclined his head. “I did,” he responded. “It was merely a temporary side-effect. Human senses were not designed to absorb so much – stimulation.” Merlin turned away again. The dragon watched him sadly. “Nor was the cost the death of Gaius,” he said. 

Merlin closed his eyes at the name and the memory. 

“As you knew would happen,” the dragon concluded. 

When Merlin opened his eyes again there were tears on his cheeks. Had he known? He must have. He must have seen it and wiped it out like everything else, everything else that was too painful. Not that it would have made much difference. We live through pain whether we try to avoid it or not. Better to do it only once. 

Broken hearts. Was that what the visions had been warning him all along? 

“It was simply his time, Merlin,” the dragon said gently. “He had lived a long life. All creatures have their time.” 

Merlin continued to stare steadfastly the other way, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“What is it?” he asked, sniffing. 

“What?” the dragon was confused. 

Merlin turned to him. “The cost,” he said. “If it’s not my eyesight, if it’s not Gaius, what is the cost of this. What is still to come?” 

The dragon softened. “You know what is to come.” 

“Tell me!” he demanded. “I need to hear it.” 

“Young warlock,” the dragon began. “You must have wondered why it was that all the legends and the books that talk of Emrys, name him as the most powerful sorcerer to walk the land. And yet you were defeated by the chains of Morgause. One such as Alvarr was able to imprison you.” Merlin was silent and waited. “The power,” the dragon went on. “Has not left you.” 

He nodded, almost imperceptivity. He could feel it after all. The main bulk of what the dragon had bestowed on him that terrifying night had departed as he’d battled the demon, presumably enough to restore his eyesight. But inside something still bubbled, lapping gently at his soul, offering itself. He reached inside and touched it, feeling it flare as it connected with his magic, feeling the power. 

“No,” he said finally. “Not all of it.” 

“You are now,” the dragon went on. “The most powerful warlock the world has ever known. No man can best you, no one rise against you. You have the power of the ancients, and the sight to see all times. You are a prophet and a warrior. You will be spoken of in words long written and words not yet written. You are Merlin, you are Emrys.” 

He allowed the words to die away. 

“And that’s the cost.” 

“Such power does not come easy.” 

Merlin shut his eyes. “What else?” he asked, knowing there was more. 

His friend looked at him. “Dragons,” he said. “Do not age the same way as other creatures of this world. We exist outside the bonds of time that ravage man and mountain alike. We are forever. We can be killed, we can fall sick, but we do not die, Merlin.” He paused. “And now neither shall you. You shall be until time ends.” 

Merlin nodded, tears still falling. It seemed grotesque, when he was so close to death, to be so far from it. He wondered if this was how it would always be now, when his loved ones died around him. He would watch, and wait for his own death that would never come. 

He raised a hand to wipe his cheeks, sick of crying, sick of everything. 

“The cost is a high one, as I warned you,” the dragon said gently. “But it is not more than you can bear. Your path may be lonely, but you will not be alone, for most of it.” 

Merlin opened his eyes and looked at the sun. It was higher now, burning bright. 

He turned to the dragon. “You speak as though these things were always meant to be,” he said in a broken voice. “And yet what Morgana did, and what I did to prevent it, were supposedly out of time. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

The dragon smiled. “Fate is a flowing river as you know well, Merlin. Block it and it finds another route to the sea.” 

Merlin considered, thoughts and powers rising within him like a storm. This he must learn to control. This was his life now. 

But there was still work to do.

“Will you come with me to Camelot?” he asked suddenly. 

The dragon bowed his head. “I will, young warlock, if you are in need.” 

“I am,” Merlin nodded, and walking to the side of the beast as he lowered his head to the ground, used his magic to assist him in climbing on one handed. “It’s time for Arthur to make his choice.” 

The dragon unfurled his wings, warming them in the sun. “And what if he makes the wrong choice?” he wondered. 

Merlin took a firm grip. “There is no wrong choice,” he said.


	20. Coming home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter in a long series, so thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read. A particular thanks to all who have posted comments and kudos as well. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed :-)

Their journey was a brief one. After all, they were not far from the castle, and dragons travelled faster than any other beast alive. Kilgharrah circled lazily in the sky for a moment or two, and Merlin leaned out to survey the damage to the citadel. It was severe, but certainly not irreparable. Then he looked to the west. An army was camped on the fields there. But it was not Morgana’s army. 

“Who’s that?” he shouted to the dragon. 

“Godwyn,” the dragon said. “His men came last night, along with soldiers from Olaf’s kingdom. They helped the knights of Camelot to tear through Morgana’s troops in the darkness as they made to attack. They’ve fled back to their kingdom, licking their wounds. It would appear that many men will march to Arthur’s banner when he is in need.” 

Merlin smiled. “So it would seem.” 

Satisfied he had enough attention from below, the dragon dropped slowly down, managing to land in the courtyard without either damaging anything or getting too close to the demon's hole, which he regarded dolefully. Before Merlin could stop him, he breathed a great cloud of fire in its direction, and like an iron cauterizing a wound, the heat melted the rocks and sealed the hole, forever. 

But, as was to be expected, the conflagration rather put the courtyard in a panic, and people screamed, running for cover, as the knights and guards formed a defensive perimeter around the dragon and its rider. 

“Do you think that was wise?” Merlin sighed.

“It was necessary,” the dragon said quietly. “Necessary and wise are not always the same thing.” 

“Easy,” Merlin calmed him with a hand, as the knights came closer brandishing weapons. They stopped short of attacking, probably because they’d spotted Merlin perched on the dragon’s neck, and probably also because the dragon himself was making no further aggressive moves. 

Then there was movement at the main castle entrance, and Arthur appeared at the top of the steps, Gwen by his side. Gwaine was there as well, and Leon, Lancelot, and many of the other knights, along with Godwyn and others he recognised. It was quite a crowd. 

The dragon lowered his head so that Merlin could slide off, which he did, his knees almost buckling as the impact sent unbelievable pain firing through his injuries. He put a hand on the dragon’s neck to steady himself, knowing the import of this moment. Knowing he couldn’t be weak. 

“Good luck,” the dragon murmured, raising his head as Merlin took his hand away. He didn’t respond. 

Instead, he moved forward towards Arthur, who was coming down the steps towards him. His head was swathed in bandages, he was limping, and he looked pale. But he was on his feet, and walking unaided. 

“Merlin!” he cried. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried about you. Why did you just disappear off in the night like that?” 

He stopped on the bottom step as Merlin came up to him. The wizard glanced around at the others, seeing their concern. He felt a stab of guilt, but let it pass quickly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had things to do.” 

“So I can see,” Arthur said, looking over his shoulder towards the dragon. Then he looked Merlin in the eyes, which Merlin found a bit weird, until he realised that Arthur was looking at his eyes. Of course, he’d been blind the last time they’d seen each other, and his eyes were no longer glowing. 

But before the king could do or say anything else, Merlin did something quite unexpected. He went down on his knees. He winced a bit as he did it, and wished suddenly that he’d allowed the dragon to heal him after all. Martyred pain was all well and good, but it was also inconvenient. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Arthur asked him quietly. 

Merlin looked up at him. “Arthur Pendragon,” he said, his voice carrying. “I Merlin of Ealdor, son of Balinor and Hunith, do swear my allegiance to you. To you I also pledge my rightful powers as warlock and sole surviving dragon lord. I will serve you faithfully from this day until the day you die. May those here present bear witness.”

To say Arthur was shocked would be an understatement, but to his credit, he recovered reasonably quickly, and seemed to realise what Merlin was doing. He placed his hands on his head. 

“I Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, son of Uther and Ygraine, do accept your service, and declare you a free man of this kingdom. From this day, you shall serve as my personal councillor – and…” he seemed to be searching for a term. “Sorcerer to the court?” he tried. 

Merlin smiled up at him. “Yes, that will do nicely,” he said quietly, and leaned forward to kiss Arthur’s hand as a sign of fealty. But Arthur snatched it away. 

“Get up you idiot,” he said, offering Merlin the hand instead. Merlin smiled and took it, people cheered and clapped. Gwaine looked like his grin was about to split his face. 

But then Merlin leaned in closer to Arthur and said quietly. “You know,” he said. “It would be extremely difficult to perform duties as a court sorcerer in a kingdom where sorcery is forbidden.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of… alright,” he said, and held up his hand to silence the crowd. “I do declare,” he commanded. “That from this day, sorcery shall no longer be deemed a crime in itself in this kingdom.” There was another surprisingly hearty cheer. Arthur held up his hand again. “Magic used for dark purposes will of course still be punishable,” he said. “And it will be important to teach the young the differences between right and wrong in such matters. I would therefore like to found a school of sorcery here in Camelot, so that all may receive the wisdom that my friend here has shown in such abundance.” 

Another cheer went up. 

“School?” Merlin asked under cover of the cheering. 

“Spur of the moment thing,” Arthur said with a smile. 

“Oh,” Merlin responded, then looked around feeling a glow spread through him suddenly, feeling the ache of Gaius’ death start to recede just a little, just enough to let in the gentle fingers of joy. He wished his uncle could have seen this. 

Gwen and Gwaine, Lancelot and all the others came down the steps to congratulate him and hug him and ask if he was alright, until he was really quite overwhelmed. After all, he hadn’t come here to be praised. He’d come to put in motion the final pieces of his journey with Arthur. 

Eventually, he managed to get the king to himself. He pulled him to the side and said in his ear: “Fancy seeing Camelot from the sky?” 

Arthur looked at him, then at the dragon, which was sitting patiently in the middle of the courtyard while the guards hovered nervously, unsure what to do about it. 

“You’re kidding, right?” Arthur said. 

Merlin leaned in closer. “Don’t be such a big girl’s blouse,” he said. 

Arthur pulled a face, clearly vulnerable to that particular jibe, and pulled his gloves up firmly with a tug. He turned to walk towards the dragon, with Merlin smiling at his side. 

Then Merlin stopped. “I’ll just be a moment,” he said, turning and leaving Arthur suddenly, walking away back over to where the others were standing. 

That left Arthur on his own. With the dragon. 

The king followed Merlin with his eyes for a moment, as he moved off in Gwaine’s direction and began talking earnestly to the knight. Then he turned back and stared at the beast in front of him. It regarded him back. 

Arthur smiled, in what he hoped was a disarming manner, before realising that was a fairly ridiculous notion. Then continued the theme anyway by saying: “Hi!” 

The dragon just stared at him. Arthur swallowed uncomfortably. The last time they’d been eyeball to eyeball like this, the dragon had been trying to kill him. But it looked fairly placid now. Then he remembered something else about their last meeting. 

“Um – look,” he said, reasonably quietly. No point in looking foolish in front of everyone, but he felt like he couldn’t just stand there saying nothing. “Sorry about the whole, stabbing you in the chest thing,” he went on, poking his finger up at the dragon as though it were a spear. 

The dragon narrowed its eyes slightly, then bowed its head. “That is quite alright, young Pendragon,” it said. 

Arthur jumped about a foot in the air when it actually spoke. That he hadn’t been expecting. 

The dragon put his head down lower towards the king, prompting an increase in the level of tension from the nearby guards and knights. A few swords were drawn. 

The dragon ignored them, its attention on Arthur. “But it did ache for a week afterwards.”

“Oh,” Arthur fought back the stab of fear he felt at having that head and those teeth quite so close to him. But Merlin had been sitting on the damn thing. It must be at least reasonably tame. “Um – well,” he went on. “You were trying to set fire to me.” 

Kilgharrah smiled. “You fought well,” he said. “And now you have come into your kingdom, you and my dragon lord together. Fighting for Albion.” 

“Yes,” Arthur started, then stopped. “What’s Albion? And what’s this about a dragon lord…” he broke off. “Wait, Merlin just said that he…” 

He turned with his mouth open as Merlin suddenly appeared again at his elbow. “Ready?” the warlock wondered, looking between Arthur and the dragon questioningly.

“You’re really a dragon lord?” the king demanded of his friend. 

Merlin’s face scrunched with amused confusion. “Of course I’m a dragon lord,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “How else do you think I could have got Kilgharrah to stop attacking Camelot, to say nothing of flying me here.” He moved past Arthur to the side of the dragon, and once again used his magic to help him climb up onto the beast’s neck. There were some cries and murmurs around the courtyard at that. 

“You told me I was the one to defeat it!” Arthur looked up at him, incredulous. 

“Of course I did,” Merlin said, looking down at him. “I’ve told you a lot of things over the years. Now stop being such a clotpole and get up here!” 

Arthur just put his hands on his hips and stood there with his mouth open. Rolling his eyes, Merlin moved his good hand down in his direction and, with glowing eyes, raised his king gently upwards, the blonde’s hands pinwheeling at the strange sensation of being hauled helpless like a sack of grain. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” he exclaimed, as Merlin deposited him lightly on the dragon’s neck behind him. “Don’t do that!” he protested, slapping Merlin lightly on his good shoulder. 

“Ow!” Merlin complained back. “I’m injured here!” 

The dragon sighed, slowly unfurling his wings. “Do you two ever stop arguing!” he growled, shoving powerfully with his legs and pushing himself off the ground and up into the air. 

***

Arthur, initially, was terrified. He would never have admitted it for all the world, but the sensation of being suddenly in the sky and completely out of his own control, scared the willies out of him. Dragons it seemed, didn’t come with saddles or stirrups and there was very little to hold on to. So he clung tightly with his thighs, and even found himself grabbing hold of fistfuls of Merlin’s green cloak – wondering only vaguely why he was wearing a cloak instead of his usual brown jacket. 

But then, after a few moments (and he hadn’t fallen off) the fear evaporated and was replaced by sheer exhilaration. Everything looked so different, so perfect. It felt like he could just reach out and touch the trees and fields. He saw the waving flags of the tents outside the castle, tiny and far below; saw men like ants standing and staring up at them, saw horses dancing around on their tethers for fear of the great beast overhead. 

This was amazing! And he could never even have imagined it in all his dreams. It made him forget the devastation and the death they were leaving behind, made him even forget his aching body, which he’d been told very firmly by Guinevere just an hour or so before, should still be in bed. 

But if he’d still been in bed, he would have missed this – and he wouldn’t have missed this for anything. 

He tried to shout something to Merlin in front of him, but either the warlock was ignoring him, or he simply couldn’t hear. After all, the wind was unbelievably powerful, buffeting past them both, and drawing tears from his eyes. 

The dragon soared upwards, flapping his wings steadily, but seeming to take little effort in the flight, and Arthur simply held on, clutching Merlin round the waist now, a huge smile stretched across his face at the joy of the experience. 

He looked back, and was surprised to see that Camelot was already tiny behind them. How had they travelled so far and so fast? Then before he knew it, they were descending, the ground rushing up to meet them as the dragon angled his wings to slow down their flight, flapping heavily as they approached the ground, and then reaching out with his clawed feet to land with a heavy bump.

Arthur was so dazed by the experience that he just sat there grinning for a few seconds, unsure what to do next. Then he was jerked back to reality, as Merlin slid off the dragon from in front of him, and fell instantly to his knees with a cry of pain. 

He’d been told that Merlin was injured pretty much as soon as he’d woken that morning. Gwen had been with him, holding his hand, and smiling when he opened his eyes. But he’d seen instantly through her façade, her relief not quite able to hide the sorrow in her heart. 

She’d been reluctant at first to tell him much, but he’d badgered her relentlessly, and refused to hear anything about his own health, until he’d heard the truth about what had happened. And so, haltingly, she’d told him: about the demon, about Merlin. About Gaius. She’d told him also that they had visitors from the neighbouring kingdoms, and at that he’d insisted on getting up, knowing that he had to be strong now that he was king. To be weak was to be vulnerable. 

And so he had been up and bandaged and talking to the kings about the previous night’s battle – which he of course had not been able to take part in – when word had come that a dragon had been sighted over Camelot. 

At first there had been fear in the hall, and Arthur had commanded his knights to take up defensive positions against a beast that had previously laid waste to his kingdom (and which was supposed to be dead). But when the dragon landed peacefully in the courtyard, and news had come in that his servant had been sighted sitting on its back, he made his way quickly out, his companions at his side. 

When he’d seen Merlin, he’d secretly been relieved. From what Gwen had told him, his servant had been in a bad way when they’d put him to bed. She’d obviously been quite surprised that he’d been able to leave Camelot under his own steam in the middle of the night, and was worried that no one had seen him since. But there he was walking towards them, and acting almost normal, apart from the whole kneeling incident which Arthur still couldn’t quite get his head round. 

But seeing him now, Arthur was instantly aware that it had been an act. Merlin had been appearing strong, just as Arthur had been, aware of the moment, pushing everything else aside. 

Quickly, he slid off the dragon himself, stifling his own exclamation of pain (his right knee had been badly bruised by falling stones) and tumbling down beside his servant, who was leaning forward, his right hand bracing himself off the ground. His face sheet white. He was in tears. 

Arthur did what he had seldom ever done before and put his arms around him, wishing he could take away everything that had happened in that last day. They’d both lost so much, and for what? What happened now? 

As he kneeled there, feeling Merlin sob into his shoulder, a new sensation settled all around him, and he looked up quickly to see a golden glow descending on their bodies. He raised his eyes further, drawing away from Merlin in shock, and saw that the glow came from the dragon’s mouth. The beast was breathing something onto them. 

He opened his mouth to protest, but in the same instant, he felt a peaceful sensation settle through him, warm and comforting. He felt his aches and pains easing away, as though he’d slipped into a hot bath, and he closed his mouth and his eyes, and breathed in deeply, completely relaxed. 

Then as quickly as it started, the feeling faded. He opened his eyes, so see Merlin blinking in front of him, still looking lost, but no longer so pale. He put a hand to his shoulder, and smiled faintly. 

“What,” Arthur wondered. “Was that?” 

“He healed us,” Merlin said succinctly, reaching up to try and take the sling from round his neck, wincing just a little bit as he did so. “Dragon magic, Arthur. The oldest there is.” 

Arthur put a hand to his head, and indeed, it no longer screamed in agony when he prodded it. Now it felt more like a bruise that was long since inflicted and almost healed. His knee too felt like he’d only subjected it to a vigorous training session. 

Quickly, he pulled off his own bandages then reached over to help Merlin with the considerable layers that were wrapped tightly around his arm. 

He glanced up at the dragon while he worked. “Thanks,” he said. 

“You are welcome, King Arthur,” it replied, then moved away slowly to the side of the clearing they had landed in, leaving the two boys alone. 

Merlin kept his eyes down as Arthur continued to unwrap bandages. The situation reminded him so sharply of the night of his father’s death, that at first Arthur found it overwhelming. Eventually, he spoke. 

“I’m truly sorry,” he said. “About Gaius.” 

Merlin’s face clenched slightly, and he nodded, but said nothing. 

“And thank you,” Arthur went on, sighing. “For the demon – for everything.” 

“It’s your kingdom now,” Merlin all but whispered. He looked up. “Everything is just as it should be.” 

Arthur smiled at him. “Why did you bring me here?” he wondered. 

Merlin shrugged. “To talk,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about. And back in Camelot it’s all going to be repairing walls and making deals and training knights – and getting married.” He smiled as well, just a little, like winter sun. “We needed some quiet. You need to know everything – before you can do everything you were meant to do.” 

“So tell me,” Arthur said, pulling away the last of the bandages, and watching as Merlin rubbed his wrist firmly, flexing his long fingers. “Tell me everything.” 

***

They talked a long time, as the sun hoisted itself up through the hazy blue sky and then rolled lazily down again on the other side. They talked about everything, everything that had happened since Merlin had arrived in Camelot all those years ago. All those things that Arthur had missed or been left out of, all the secrets of magic, and the pains of betrayal. The king had laughed at the goblin story, and he’d had tears in his eyes when Merlin described his own father's death. But he’d listened earnestly to all of it, asking questions, pulling Merlin up when he thought he was bending the truth, hearing the story of his life anew, and finally making sense of it all. 

They hadn’t gone hungry. Merlin had conjured them food, better than they would normally eat on wilderness outings, prompting the king to tease him as to why he’d never told him of his magic before when it came with such obvious fringe benefits. 

“Dying is a slightly high cost to pay for eating well on hunting trips,” Merlin pointed out. 

The king had just laughed. It all seemed so ridiculous now. He’d known about Merlin’s magic for only a few days, and already it seemed so natural. 

“I expect you to fight with your magic too from now on,” Arthur said later. “No more hiding behind trees.” 

“Arthur, I was usually hiding behind trees doing magic!” Merlin insisted. “Why do you think no one ever managed to stab you in the back during all those battles we were in together? Where did you think all those fallen branches and clumsy bandits who tripped over their own feet, came from?” 

When it started to grow dark, Arthur wondered if they should be getting back. But Merlin had been vague about that, saying only that they weren’t expected. He then created them a grand tent (which even had a little flag waving cheerfully at the top), and two comfortable beds to sleep in, and they’d slept, both exhausted, through the dark reaches of the night, with the dragon keeping watch nearby. 

In the morning, Merlin had conjured Arthur some clean kingly clothes to wear, and himself something more respectable than the night clothes he’d been left in. 

“Why?” the king had wondered, admiring the red velvet of his sleeves in the early morning light. 

Merlin just shrugged. “It’s what they’ll be expecting,” he said. 

“Who?” 

But Merlin wouldn’t say. 

They’d climbed back onto the dragon once more, and again, Arthur had felt the rush of joy at the sensation of flying, the wind rushing through his hair. But the flight was brief, and Arthur was amazed as they dropped lower through the sky, to see crowds of people down below. This was a wooded area, and at least two hour’s walk from Camelot or any habitation he knew of.

The dragon came in to land in a small clearing at a safe distance from the people, and the two boys slid off its back, landing easily on the ground beside it. 

Merlin turned to fix Arthur’s outfit, ruffled by the journey. 

“Merlin, what are we doing here?” the king wondered, finally demanding answers. 

The warlock looked up at him with a smile. “You’re fulfilling your destiny,” he said. “Which means that I’m fulfilling my destiny.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Merlin sighed happily and clapped him on the arm. “That clearing over there,” he said. “Is where I put the sword.” 

“The magical one? The one you stuck in a rock?” 

“Yes Arthur, that sword.” 

“So what’s going to happen?” 

“I told Gwaine,” he said. “Before we left, to spread the word about this magical sword that only the true king of all of Britain could pull from the rock. I told him to gather as many people here as possible. And even though it’s only been a day, I reckon he’s done quite well. Gwaine is amazingly persuasive, and knows people in all the right places. I’m guessing there will have been people here all night trying to pull that sword out of the stone.” 

“And what do you want me to do?” 

“You’re… going to pull the sword out of the stone," he said slowly, as though speaking to an idiot. "You're going to do it in front of everyone, and be declared the once and future king.” 

“The what?” 

Merlin leaned closer. “Just go with it,” he whispered. 

“Right,” Arthur said, rubbing his hands together. “And what are you going to do?” 

Merlin’s face crinkled in confusion. “I’m going to watch,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re not going to help?” 

The confusion flattened away. “No Arthur,” he said. “You don’t need my help any more. You’re king now. All of this is yours.”

Arthur turned to him, and put a hand on each of his arms. “Merlin,” he said, looking him in the face. “I will always need your help.” And he smiled, genuinely, saying nothing, saying everything. 

Merlin smiled back, his eyes glittering, and turned to watch as with a final squeeze, Arthur walked away from him and towards his people. 

And as the crowds began to cheer, Merlin felt the head of the dragon snake down beside him. It spoke quietly in his ear. 

“So, young warlock,” it said. “How do you feel?” 

And that was the one question that Merlin honestly didn’t know the answer to. So many emotions were vying in his chest that he thought his heart would break with them. So many deaths, so much pain for this moment. 

He saw Guinevere coming out of the crowd, going straight to Arthur, kissing him as the people cheered. He saw the knights there clapping Arthur on the shoulder as he walked forwards towards the clearing, holding his hand up to acknowledge the crowd.

Merlin folded his arms in front of him and took in a great breath, feeling the sweet, clean air course through him, feeling the truth of simply being there, of watching this all unfold. 

He glanced at the dragon, and their eyes met, these two last creatures of an ancient magic. 

He opened his mouth. “I feel whole,” he said. 

And smiled.


End file.
